aw his father lying near the door, and
he uttered a cry so full of remorse and sorrow that it entered the
dulled ears of Baptiste and restored him to consciousness, and he
followed his son into the little bedroom, where Pierre laid the brave
little mother on the bed. Tenderly the old man put his arms around
his son's neck and kissed him, and then the wayward one knew that he
was once more forgiven, and that the past would be remembered against
him by his father no more.

They thought she had only fainted, and while Baptiste administered
simple remedies to her, Pierre, the erring one, knelt by the bedside
with his face buried in the hand that had held the knife so firmly and
that had struck the brute, lying so quietly out there in the
moonlight, so fierce a blow. Tears, the first that had fallen from his
eyes since he was a boy, fell and trickled through the fingers that
were now so wan and thin and that had toiled so hard for him. How she
had longed to see tears in his eyes and hear penitent words from his
lips, and now his tears were drenching her fingers, and he was telling
her in a choked voice how bitterly he repented of his drunkenness and
his disregard of the Church, and all his evil ways, and how he would
reform and be a son to her indeed; yet she heard him not.

So deep was his grief that he did not raise his head, or he would have
noticed how deathly pale her face was and how very light her breathing
had become. Suddenly his grief ceased; a great fear had entered his
heart--What caused the hand that his face was hid in to be so clammy
and cold? It had not been so when he first pressed it to his face.
"She is dead," whispered his heart brutally. "It is a lie, a wicked
lie! she is not dead," he muttered. "Raise your head and see, raise
your head and see," reiterated his heart monotonously. He had no
reply to make to such an answer as this. Slowly he raised his shaking
hands to his face, still not daring to look up, and again took her
hand in his. A chill seemed to emanate from it which reached his very
heart. Slowly his head began to rise. From the foot of the bed his
eyes gradually crept up and up, past her feet, past her knees, past
the bosom that had nourished him; inch by inch, higher and higher,
till at last they rested on her face, and then he uttered a great cry
and started to his feet.

As he stood and looked, his father entered the room, in one hand a
medicine bottle, in the other a bowl of water. He,