“Mary showed no sign of fear as she lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and gazed steadily for a few moments in that direction.

“‘There’s nothing there, father,’ said she, in a confident voice.

“‘It’s gone now,’ Joe spoke in a tone of relief.  ’Your angel-look drove it away.  Aha!  There it is now, creeping along the floor!’ he suddenly exclaimed, fearfully; starting away from where he stood.

“‘Here, father’!  Here!’ Mary called to him, and he sprung into the bed again; while she gathered her arms about him tightly, saying in a low, soothing voice, ‘Nothing can harm you here, father.’

“Without a moment’s delay, I gave him the morphine left by Doctor Green.  He took it eagerly, and then crouched down in the bed, while Mary continued to assure him of perfect safety.  So long as he was clearly conscious as to where he was, he remained perfectly still.  But, as soon as partial slumber came, he would scream out, and spring from the bed in terror and then it would take us several minutes to quiet him again.  Six times during the night did this occur; and as often, Mary coaxed him back.  The morphine I continued to give as the doctor had directed.  By morning, the opiates had done their work, and he was sleeping soundly.  When the doctor came, we removed him to his own bed.  He is still asleep; and I begin to feel uneasy, lest he should never awake again.  I have heard of this happening.”

“See if father isn’t awake,” said Mary, raising her head from the pillow.  She had not heard what passed between her mother and Mrs. Slade, for the conversation was carried on in low voices.

Mrs. Morgan stepped to the door, and looked into the room where her husband lay.

“He is still asleep, dear,” she remarked, coming back to the bed.

“Oh!  I wish he was awake.  I want to see him so much.  Won’t you call him, mother?”

“I have called him a good many times.  But you know the doctor gave him opium.  He can’t wake up yet.”

“He’s been sleeping a very long time; don’t you think so, mother?”

“Yes, dear, it does seem a long time.  But it is best for him.  He’ll be better when he wakes.”

Mary closed her eyes, wearily.  How deathly white was her face—­how sunken her eyes—­how sharply contracted her features!

“I’ve given her up, Mrs. Slade,” said Mrs. Morgan, in a low, rough, choking whisper, as she leaned nearer to her friend.  “I’ve given her up!  The worst is over; but, oh! it seemed as though my heart would break in the struggle.  Dear child!  In all the darkness of my way, she has helped and comforted me.  Without her, it would have been the blackness of darkness.”

“Father! father!” The voice of Mary broke out with a startling quickness.

Mrs. Morgan turned to the bed, and laying her hand on Mary’s arm said: 

“He’s still sound asleep, dear.”

“No, he isn’t, mother.  I heard him move.  Won’t you go in and see if he is awake?”