man, the mystery of child was too
near to him. Awe came upon him and the terror of his own unworthiness,
rewarded--or punished--which was it?--by such compassion, such
self-sacrifice.

"When I left you," Lily murmured, and her voice sounded thin and tired,
"it seemed as if the spirit of the child came with me, as if I, too,
heard its dead voice in the night, crying for its salvation, for its
relief from agony. But, Maurice, you cannot hear it now. You will never
hear it again--unless--unless--"

She fixed her eyes on him. They were growing dim.

"God has given the dead to you again through me," she faltered, "that
you--may--redeem--redeem--your--sin."

She moved, and leaned against him, as if she would gather him and the
sleeping child into her embrace. But she could not. She slipped back
softly, almost like a snowflake that falls and is gone.

* * * * *

Maurice Dale is a famous doctor now. He lives with his daughter, who
never leaves him and whom he loves passionately. Many patients throng
to his consulting-room, but not one of them suspects that the grave
physician, deep down in his heart, cherishes a strange belief--not based
upon science. This belief is connected with his child. Secretly he
thinks of her as of one risen from the grave, come back to him from
beyond the gates of death.

The cry of the child is silent. Maurice never hears it now. But he
believes that could any demon tempt him, even for one moment, to be
cruel to his little daughter, he would hear it again. It would lament
once more in the darkness, would once more fill the silence with its
despair.

And then a dead woman would stir in her grave.

For there are surely cries of earth that even the dead can hear.

HOW LOVE CAME TO PROFESSOR GUILDEA.

HOW LOVE CAME TO PROFESSOR GUILDEA.

Dull people often wondered how it came about that Father Murchison and
Professor Frederic Guildea were intimate friends. The one was all faith,
the other all scepticism. The nature of the Father was based on love. He
viewed the world with an almost childlike tenderness above his long,
black cassock; and his mild, yet perfectly fearless, blue eyes seemed
always to be watching the goodness that exists in humanity, and
rejoicing at what they saw. The Professor, on the other hand, had a hard
face like a hatchet, tipped with an aggressive black goatee beard. His
eyes were quick, piercing and irreverent. The lines abou