"I'm coming, dear," answered Morgan.

"Come quick, father, won't you?"

"Yes, love." And Morgan got up and dressed himself--but with
unsteady hands, and every sign of nervous prostration. In a little
while, with the assistance of his wife, he was ready, and
supported by her, came tottering into the room where Mary was
lying.

"Oh, father!"--What a light broke over her countenance.--"I've
been waiting for you so long. I thought you were never going to
wake up. Kiss me, father."

"What can I do for you, Mary?" asked Morgan, tenderly, as he laid
his face down upon the pillow beside her.

"Nothing, father. I don't wish for anything. I only wanted to see
you."

"I'm here now, love."

"Dear father!" How earnestly, yet tenderly she spoke, laying her
small hand upon his face. "You've always been good to me, father."

"Oh, no. I've never been good to anybody," sobbed the weak,
broken-spirited man, as he raised himself from the pillow.

How deeply touched was Mrs. Slade, as she sat, the silent witness
of this scene!