by the ticking of my watch--I thought of her, peacefully and
prettily asleep under the horrid shelter of the condemned
cell--and it is hardly too much to say that my heart was
heavy, when I compared her prospects with the prospects of
her baby-rival. Kind as he was, conscientious as he was, could
the Minister be expected to admit to an equal share in his love
the child endeared to him as a father, and the child who merely
reminded him of an act of mercy? As for his wife, it seemed
the merest waste of time to put her state of feeling (placed
between the two children) to the test of inquiry. I tried
the useless experiment, nevertheless.

"It is pleasant to think," I began, "that your other daughter--"

She interrupted me, with the utmost gentleness: "Do you mean
the child that my husband was foolish enough to adopt?"

"Say rather fortunate enough to adopt," I persisted. "As your own
little girl grows up, she will want a playfellow. And she will
find a playfellow in that other child, whom the good Minister has
taken for his own."

"No, my dear sir--not if I can prevent it."

The contrast between the cruelty of her intention, and the
musical beauty of the voice which politely expressed it in those
words, really startled me. I was at a loss how to answer her,
at the very time when I ought to have been most ready to speak.

"You must surely understand," she went on, "that we don't want