r was
explaining. Mr. Bentley's voice interrupted him.

"He must be brought in, at once. Do you know where Dr. Latimer's office
is, on Tower Street?" he asked the man. "Go there, and bring this doctor
back with you as quickly as possible. If he is not in, get another,
physician."

Between them, the driver and Holder got the burden out of the carriage
and up the steps. The light from the hallway confirmed the rector's
fear.

"It's Preston Parr," he said.

The next moment was too dreadful for surprise, but never had the sense
of tragedy so pierced the innermost depths of Holder's being as now,
when Horace Bentley's calmness seemed to have forsaken him; and as he
gazed down upon the features on the pillow, he wept.... Holder turned
away. Whatever memories those features evoked, memories of a past that
still throbbed with life these were too sacred for intrusion. The years
of exile, of uncomplaining service to others in this sordid street and
over the wide city had not yet sufficed to allay the pain, to heal the
wound of youth. Nay, loyalty had kept it fresh--a loyalty that was the
handmaid of faith...

The rector softly left the room, only to be confronted with another
harrowing scene in the library, where a frantic woman was struggling in
Sally Grover's grasp. He went to her assistance... Words of comfort, of
entreaty were of no avail,--Kate Marcy did not seem to hear them. Hers,
in contrast to that other, was the unmeaning grief, the overwhelming
sense of injustice of the child; and with her regained physical strength
the two had all they could do to restrain her.

"I will go to him," she sobbed, between her paroxysms, "you've got
no right to keep me--he's mine... he came back to me--he's all I ever
had...."

So intent were they that they did not notice Mr. Bentley standing beside
them until they heard his voice.

"What she says is true," he told them. "Her place is in there. Let her
go."

Kate Marcy raised her head at the words, and looked at him a strange,
half-comprehending, half-credulous gaze. They released her, helped her
towards the bedroom, and closed the door gently behind her... The three
sat in silence until the carriage was heard returning, and the doctor
entered.

The examination was brief, and two words, laconically spoken, sufficed
for an explanation--apoplexy, alcohol. The prostrate, quivering woman
was left where they had found her.

Dr. Latimer was a friend of Mr. Bentley's, and betrayed