deception, while 'Tana's face grew
hard and white.

"How you look!" said the dying woman. "Well, it's over now. He never cared
for me much, though--not so much as others did. He was never my real
husband, you know, for I never had a divorce. He thought he was, though;
and even after he left me, he sent me money regular for me to live quiet
in 'Frisco, but it didn't suit me. Then he got turned dead against me
when I tried to make him think the child was his. He wouldn't do
anything for me after that; I had cheated him once too often."

"And was it?" It was the first time 'Tana had spoken, and the woman
smiled.

"You care, too, do you? Well, yes, it was. You tell him so; tell him I
said so, and I was dying. He'll take care of her, I think. She's pretty,
but not like me. He never saw her. She's with a woman in Chicago, where I
boarded. I haven't paid her board now for months, but it's all right; the
woman's a good soul. Dan Overton will pay when you tell him."

"You write an order for that child, and tell the woman to give it to me,"
said 'Tana, decidedly, and looked around for something to write with. A
sheet of paper was found, and she went to Harvey for a pencil.

"'Most ready to go?" he asked, looking at her anxiously.

She nodded her head, and shut the door.

"But I can't write now; my hands are too weak," complained the woman. "I
can't."

"You've _got_ to!" answered the girl; and, taking her in her strong young
hands, she raised her up higher on the pillow. "There is the paper and
pencil--now write."

"It will kill me to lay like this."

"No matter if it does; you write."

"You're not a woman at all; you're like iron--white iron," whined the
other. "Any woman with a heart--" and the weak tears came in her eyes.

"No, I have no heart to be touched by you," answered the girl. "You had a
chance to live a decent life, and you wouldn't take it. You had an honest
man to trust you and take care of you, and you paid him with deceit.
Don't expect pity from me; but write that order."

She tried to write but could not, and the girl took the pencil.

"I will write it, and you can sign it," she said; "that will do as well."

Thus it was accomplished, and the woman was again laid lower in the bed.

"You are terrible hard on--on folks that ain't just square," she said.
"You needn't be so proud; you ain't dead yet yourself. You don't know what
may happen to you."

"I know," said the girl, coldly, "that if I ever