alone can save her. We must look
to him."

"Doctor," said Mr. Dinsmore hoarsely, "if that child dies, I must go to
my grave with the brand of Cain upon me, for I have killed her by my
cruelty; and oh! doctor, she is the very light of my eyes--the joy of
my heart! How _can_ I give her up? Save her, doctor, and you will be
entitled to my everlasting gratitude."

"Surely, my dear sir, you are reproaching yourself unjustly," said the
physician soothingly, replying to the first part of Mr. Dinsmore's
remark. "I have heard you spoken of as a very fond father, and have
formed the same opinion from my own observation, and your little girl's
evident affection for you."

"And I _was_, but in _one_ respect. I insisted upon obedience, even when
my commands came in collision with her conscientious scruples; and she
was firm; she had the spirit of a martyr--and I was very severe in my
efforts to subdue what I called wilfulness and obstinacy," said the
distracted father in a voice often, scarcely audible from emotion. "I
thought I was right, but now I see that I was fearfully wrong."

"There is _life_ yet, Mr. Dinsmore," remarked the doctor compassionately;
"and though human skill can do no more, he who raised the dead child of
the ruler of the synagogue, and restored the son of the widow of Nain to
her arms, can give back your child to your embrace; let me entreat you to
go to _him_, my dear sir. And now I must return to my patient. I fear it
will be necessary for you to keep out of sight until there is some
change, as your presence seems to excite her so much. But do not let that
distress you," he added kindly, as he noticed an expression of the
keenest anguish sweep over Mr. Dinsmore's features; "it is a common thing
in such cases for them to turn away from the very one they love best when
in health."

Mr. Dinsmore replied only by a convulsive grasp of the friendly hand
held out to him, and hurrying away to his own apartments, shut himself
up there to give way to his bitter grief and remorse where no human eye
could see him.

For hours he paced backward and forward, weeping and groaning in such
mental agony as he had never known before.

His usual fastidious neatness in person and dress was entirely forgotten,
and it never once occurred to his recollection that he had been
travelling for several days and nights in succession, through heat and
dust, without making any change in his clothing. And he was equally
unconscious t