on her colorless cheeks.

"I won't go there to-night, dear. So let your heart be at rest."

Mary's lids unclose, and two round drops, released from their
clasp, glide slowly over her face.

"Thank you, father--thank you. Mother will be so glad."

The eyes closed again; and the father moved uneasily. His heart is
touched. There is a struggle within him. It is on his lips to say
that he will never drink at the "Sickle and Sheaf" again; but
resolution just lacks the force of utterance.

"Father!"

"Well, dear?"

"I don't, think I'll be well enough to go out in two or three
days. You know the doctor said that I would have to keep very
still, for I had a great deal of fever."

"Yes, poor child."

"Now, won't you promise me one thing?"

"What is it, dear?"

"Not to go out in the evening until I get well."