long time
looking out, trying to close his ears to the ramblings of the woman on
the bed, striving to find a way to keep the promise she sought. For
just a moment the old hatred flooded through him, the resentment toward
this being who had been an integral factor in all the troubles which
had pursued him in his efforts to beat back to a new life. But as
swift as they came, they faded. No longer was she an enemy; only a
broken, beaten woman, her empty arms aching as her heart ached;
harassed by fears of exposure to the one woman in whom she still
desired to be held in honor, of the whereabouts of the man who had led
her on through the byways of love into a dismal maze of chicanery.
Only a woman, ill, perhaps dying. A woman crying out for the one boon
that she could ask of a person she knew to distrust and despise her,
seeking the thing that now was her greatest desire in the world, and
willing to promise--whether truthfully or not, Barry had no way of
telling--to reveal to him secrets of the past, if he would but comply.
Was she honest? As he stood there looking out at the snow, it seemed
to make little difference. Was she sincere? He would strive to aid a
dumb brute if he found it in distress. At last he turned and walked to
the bed.

"I'll promise, Agnes. If you want to help me afterward, well and good.
If not--you are free to do as you please. I suppose you want her
dressed before--"

"Yes." The woman had raised eagerly. "There are clothes--she's never
had on--in the bottom drawer of that old bureau. Take them with you.
Then look in a box in the top drawer. You'll find a crucifix.
They--they might want to put it on her."

She sank back in the bed, and Barry went to his task of searching the
drawers of the rickety old bureau. In a mass of tangled, old-fashioned
jewelry, he found the crucifix, its chain broken and twisted, and
placed it in a pocket. Then he turned to the grimmer task,--and the
good-by. A half-hour later, white-featured, his arms cupped gently
about a blanket-wrapped form, he stepped forth into the storm, and
bending against the wind, turned toward the railroad in obedience to
the hazy directions of the sobbing woman he had left behind.

The snowfall was lighter now; he could find his way more easily. A
half-hour passed, and he stopped, kneeling and resting the tiny, still
bundle upon his knees to relieve his aching arms. Then on again in
plodding perseverance,--fulfilling a promi