boy is
sleeping in his Heavenly Father's arms. It is not for any one like you
to try to waken him; not for you, unrepenting, to look into his face."

"Unrepenting! Doctor!" Katharine tried to shrink away from the accusing
face and voice; but the iron hand held her firmly.

"Yes, unrepenting," the doctor repeated gravely and, as he spoke, he
loosed his hold upon her arm. "Mrs. Brenton, you asked me how the baby
died. There is your answer." And he pointed to the row of bottles on
the shelf.

Instantly she rallied. Neither, whether to her shame or credit be it
said, did she make any effort to deny his wordless charge.

"Well? Suppose I did?" she said, with sudden calmness. "It was my only
chance to save my child."

"Katharine--"

"Wait, Brenton." The doctor spoke as gently as if he had been talking
to a tired little child. "Please leave this thing to me; it may save
you something, later on." Then his voice hardened. "You admit it,
then?" he queried.

Without a glance at her husband, Katharine faced the doctor, her head
held high, her eyes and cheeks blazing with anger.

"I am proud to do so," she said, and her voice was hard as steel. "It
is my one chance to speak out in behalf of my faith."

"Your faith has murdered your child," the doctor told her harshly.

She answered him with equal harshness.

"The murder lies at your own door. Left alone, I would have saved him.
Your drugs have weakened him; your unreasonable doubts have killed him
utterly. Between the two of you, yourself and--him," and the little
pause was venomous with unspoken hatred; "you have killed my baby boy.
I did my best; I took the final chance. But I could not go to seek the
help of my own church, and leave you, unguarded, to do your harm in
your own way. I did the only thing left to me, when I emptied out your
bottle and filled it with water. We are told that no healing can be
accomplished, if drugs are being used at the same time."

"Who tells you?" the doctor queried stormily.

She stared at him disdainfully, before she answered,--

"The All-Mother of our Church." Then, still disdainfully, she turned to
leave the room. "Scott, if you wish to speak to me, I shall be in my
own room," she said.

And then, still smiling slightly, still a little bit disdainful, she
went away and left the two men standing there alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"He isn't always such an ass," Dolph said, as he crossed his legs,
preparatory to a long