Mrs. Slade pressed her hands tightly in both of hers; and then
passed in with her to the room where the child lay. A stance
sufficed to tell Mrs. Slade that death had already laid his icy
fingers upon her brow.

"How are you, dear?" she asked, as she bent over and kissed her.

"Better, I thank you!" replied Mary, in a low whisper.

Then she fixed her eyes upon her mother's face with a look of
inquiry.

"What is it, love?"

"Hasn't father waked up yet?"

"No, dear."

"Won't he wake up soon?"

"He's sleeping very soundly. I wouldn't like to disturb him."

"Oh, no; don't disturb him. I thought, maybe, he was awake."

And the child's lids drooped languidly, until the long lashes lay
close against her cheeks.

There was silence for a little while, and then Mrs. Morgan said in
a half-whisper to Mrs. Slade: