"Nor the hand that struck the cruel blow." "Forget it? Never! And
if I forgive Simon Slade--"

"Nor the place where the blow was dealt," said Mrs. Morgan,
interrupting him.

"Poor--poor child!" moaned the conscience-stricken man.

"Nor your promise, Joe--nor your promise given to our dying
child."

"Father! Father! Dear father!" Mary's eyes suddenly unclosed, as
she called her father eagerly.

"Here I am, love. What is it?" And Joe Morgan pressed up to the
bedside.

"Oh! it's you, father! I dreamed that you had gone out, and--and--
but you won't will you, dear father?"

"No, love--no."

"Never any more until I get well?"

"I must go out to work, you know, Mary."

"At night, father. That's what I mean. You won't, will you?"

"No, dear, no."