enough
eyes, though you are so quiet.'

'But I cannot know this, uncle; only if you believe that Christ died for
you, you are one of God's children, though'--she added, with a slight
hesitation--'you may not have served Him very well.'

'Then you think I have not served Him, eh?' he repeated, with strange
persistence.

'Perhaps you might have done more, uncle. If you get better you will do
more for others, I feel sure,' she said. 'But now you must be still and
keep quiet. I shall not talk another word to you, positively not a
word.'

'Ay,' he said dryly, and, turning on his pillow, closed his eyes--not to
sleep, oh no, brain and heart were too full of conflicting and
disturbing thought.

In the dull hours of the early morning Gladys dozed a little in her
chair, imagining the sick man slept. When the light grew broader she
roused herself, and began to move about with swift but noiseless steps,
fearing to awake him. But he did not sleep. Lying there, with his face
turned to the wall, Abel Graham held counsel with himself, reviewing his
life, which lay before him like a tale that is told. None knew better
than he what a poor, mean, sordid, selfish life it had been, how little
it had contributed to the good or the happiness of others, and these
memories tortured him now with the stings of the bitterest regret. It
was not known to any save himself and his Maker what agony his awakened
soul passed through in the still hours of that spring day. Seeing him
lie apparently in such restfulness, the two young creatures spoke to
each other at their breakfast only in whispers, and when Walter went up
to the warehouse, Gladys continued to perform her slight tasks as gently
and noiselessly as possible; but sometimes, when she looked at the face
on the pillow, with its closed eyes and pinched, wan features, she
wished the doctor would come again.

About half-past nine a knock came to the door, and Gladys ran out almost
joyfully, expecting to see the young physician with the honest face and
the pleasant eyes, but a very different-looking personage was presented
to her view when she opened the door. A man in shabby workman's garb,
dirty, greasy, and untidy--a man with a degraded type of countenance, a
heavy, coarse mouth, and small eyes looking out suspiciously from heavy
brows. She shrank away a little, and almost unconsciously began to close
the door, even while she civilly inquired his business.

'Is Wat in? I want to see my