and would say nothing. As
to his name, it was "jess Baker;" but on rare occasions, when pressed
with hard cruelty, his lips could be seen to form the words,
"Hunder'd'n One," as though wondering how they would sound if he should
utter them, and then the old blank, suffering look would come into his
face. It had become quite seldom that he dodged an imaginary blow, and
the memory of the ball and chain was buried with other bitter
recollections of the past. He had free access to every part of the
house, and was discreet, diligent, faithful, and honest. Sometimes the
porters would impose upon his unfailing willingness and great strength
by making him carry the heaviest trunks up three or four flights of
stairs.

One day the shadow of death that was stealing southward passed over the
house containing so much life, and happiness, and wealth, and beauty.
The train passed as usual, and among the passengers who alighted was a
man who walked to the counter in a weary, uncertain manner. One or two
persons were present who knew him, and upon grasping his hand they
found that it was cold. This was strange, for the day was very hot. In
his eyes was a look of restlessness and anxiety, but he said that he
had only a pain across the forehead, and that after needed rest it
would pass away. He was conducted to a room, and there he fell across
the bed, quite worn out, he said. He complained of slight cramps in the
legs and thought that they had been caused by climbing the stairs.
After a half-hour had passed he rang his bell violently and sent for
the resident physician. That gentleman went to see him, and after
remaining a few minutes went to the office, looking anxious and pale.
He was a tall, quiet man, with white hair. He asked for Mr. Clayton,
but when he was informed that that gentleman was temporarily absent he
asked for Baker.

"Is your patient very ill, doctor?" inquired the cashier, privately and
with a certain dread.

"I want Baker," said the doctor, somewhat shortly.

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"Send me Baker instantly."

The physician had a secret of life and death. To treat it wisely he
required confidants of courage, sagacity, patience, tact, and prompt
action. There were only two to whom he should impart it,--one was the
proprietor and the other the man from Georgia.

When Baker had come the physician led him up-stairs to the floor which
held the patient's room, brought him to the window at the end of the
corrid