brow she moistened with her handkerchief. "Dear father," he heard her
say, and it brought consolation to more than the sick man. Reybold
threw open the door and entered into the presence of Mrs. Basil and her
daughter. The former arose with surprise and shame, and cried:

"Jedge Basil, the Dutch have hunted you down. He's here--the Yankee
creditor."

Joyce Basil held up her hand in imploration, but Reybold did not heed
the woman's remark. He felt a weight rising from his heart, and the
blindness of many months lifted from his eyes. The dying mortal upon
the bed, over whose face the blue billow of death was rolling rapidly,
and whose eyes sought in his daughter's the promise of mercy from on
high, was the mysterious parent who had never arrived--the Judge from
Fauquier. In that old man's long waxed mustache, crimped hair, and
threadbare finery the Congressman recognized old Beau, the outcast
gamester and mendicant, and the father of Joyce and Uriel Basil.

"Colonel Reybold," faltered that old wreck of manly beauty and of
promise long departed, "old Beau's passing in his checks. The chant
coves will be telling to-morrow what they know of his life in the
papers, but I've dropped a cold deck on 'em these twenty years. Not one
knows old Beau, the Bloke, to be Tom Basil, cadet at West Point in the
last generation. I've kept nothing of my own but my children's good
names. My little boy never knew me to be his father. I tried to keep
the secret from my daughter, but her affection broke down my disguises.
Thank God! the old rounder's deal has run out at last. For his wife
he'll flash her diles no more, nor be taken on the vag."

"Basil," said Reybold, "what trust do you leave to me in your family?"

Mrs. Basil strove to interpose, but the dying man raised his voice:

"Tryphonee can go home to Fauquier. She was always welcome there--
without me. I was disinherited. But here, Colonel! My last drop of
blood is in the girl. She loves you."

A rattle arose in the sinner's throat. He made an effort, and
transferred his daughter's hand to the Congressman's. Not taking it
away, she knelt with her future husband at the bedside and raised her
voice:

"Lord, when Thou comest into Thy kingdom, remember him!"

IN EACH OTHER'S SHOES
-----------------------
BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP

_George Parsons Lathrop (born in Hawaii, August 25, 1851; died in 1898)
was literally wedded to American literature, in that he married Rose,