is money, you understand? I am advancing
it on account. Every penny I pay you will be deducted from the little
legacy I leave you at my death."

She wearily waited for him to sign, to get it over; for there was nothing
to be done when he was in a mood like this. Perhaps, on the morrow, he
would be more rational.

She replaced the blotting-pad, and dried the check in mechanical fashion;
but her face was white with anger. She folded the useless slip, and put
it in her bag.

"Have you no gratitude?" cried the old horror from the bed. "Can't you
say, thank you?"

"Thank you, father," she answered, coldly; "I am tired of your jests,"
and, without another word, she swept from the room.

"Two!" chuckled the old man in his throat, "two!"

On arriving at the rectory, she found the man reading a paper in the
hall, and the rector not yet returned. She guessed that her husband had
gone on a heart-breaking expedition to raise money. She wished to ask the
fellow the amount of the debt for which the execution was granted, but
could not bring herself to put the question. She went to her husband's
study, guessing that he would come there on his return, and, seating
herself in his armchair, leaned her elbows on the account-books and burst
into tears.

After all, how little John had gained by marrying her! She could do
nothing for him; she was powerless even to help her own son, who was
compelled to adopt miserable subterfuges and swallow his pride on every
occasion. She opened her purse and took out the check, intending to
destroy it in her rage, but she was stopped by the miserable thought
that, after all, every penny was of vital importance just now. She could
not afford the luxury of its destruction.

"My own father!" she cried bitterly, as she spread out the check before
her. "Two dollars!"

Then, she noticed that the word "two" had nothing after it on the long
line, and that the "2" below in the square for the numerals was
straggling toward the left. It only needed a couple of noughts in her
father's hand to put everything right. Two ciphers! They would indeed be
ciphers to him, for how could he feel the difference of a few thousands
more or less in his immense banking-account? A bedridden old man had no
use for money. Indeed, it was impossible that he could know how much he
was worth. She had often seen him signing checks by the dozen, groaning
over every one. When they were gone, they were out of his mind; and all
he t