t any
rate; that you'd have him for a comforting little peg to hang your
spiritual hat on, when you came home from preaching the gospel to a
disgruntled and disgruntling world. Almost I think I felt his death
more than--"

"Not more than I." Brenton faced him steadily.

"Not in one sense. And yet, I did feel it more, because, from the
first, I saw how needless it would be."

But Brenton lifted up his hand.

"It's over now," he said concisely. "Why talk about it? Some memories
are best off, left to perish."

And, in all truth, this was one of them. Now and then, it would stir in
its grave, and lift up its ugly head for recognition; but, as a rule,
the two men had done their best to heap the dust of time and
forgetfulness upon its grave. And yet, certain scenes are so hideous
that one never quite forgets them. It had been ordained for Brenton
that the passing of his baby son should be followed by such a scene, by
a discovery so tragic as to make the painless baby death sink into
insignificance beside it.

It was the doctor himself who had made the discovery, made it just too
late to have it do much good to any one. The nurse and Brenton were
still bending above the frilly crib, smoothing out the muslin folds
around the child and straightening the blankets, when the doctor came
into the room, eager, his face alight with strength and purpose to do
his share in what he knew too well could be only a fight to the very
finish. The words of cheer died from his lips, though, as he caught
sight of Brenton's face.

"Not yet?" he asked, with an abruptness far more sympathetic than any
amount of tears.

"Yes. Just now."

"Impossible!" The single word was curt. Still more curt was the brief
question to the nurse, "You gave the stimulant, as I ordered?"

"Three times."

"What effect did it have?"

"None."

"Impossible!" the doctor said, yet once again. "It is what we always
use in such cases as this. There must be some mistake. Show me the
bottle."

The nurse turned scarlet at the curt command. Then quietly she rose and
fetched the bottle, now half empty.

"Let me take it." The doctor's face was now as scarlet as her own, the
veins upon his brow were swollen and hard as knotted cords; but his
hand was very steady, as he took the bottle, removed the cork, smelled,
tasted. "Who has had access to this bottle?" he thundered then, and his
voice boded little good to any meddler.

"Mr. Brenton and myself."

"Who else