"No; she died several years ago."

With a deep sigh the man dropped back upon the pillow, and remained
silent for a few minutes. Jean sat down by his side, lost in thought.
What was the meaning of the man's sudden excitement? she asked herself.
And why did he question her so closely about her parents' names?
Perhaps he had known them in the past. At length the man stirred,
reached out his right hand and touched hers.

"Young woman," he began, "for your parents' sake alone I give you
permission to take food and clothing to those starving people."

"Oh, I am so glad!" Jean replied. "But did you know my father and
mother?"

To this question the man seemed to pay no heed. His eyes were fixed
upon the seven candles.

"Yes, there were seven of us," he murmured as if to himself, "seven who
were all in all to one another. But six went out, and I was left
alone. Put them out again, Miss, and leave just one burning. You may
go now, as I want to think. Send Sam to me. He can sleep in here
to-night. You will find plenty of blankets in the next room. Good
night."

Quietly and almost reverently Jean extinguished six of the candles, and
then left the room. She felt that there was a deep mystery surrounding
this man's life of which the seven-branch candle-stick was but the
outward symbol.