it was plain that he slept soundly. And Mary, too, was sleeping, her face now laid against her father's, and her arms still about his neck. The sight touched even the doctor's heart and moistened his eyes. For nearly half an hour he remained; and then, as Morgan continued to sleep, he left medicine to be given immediately, and went home, promising to call early in the morning.
It is now past midnight, and we leave the lonely, sad-hearted watcher with her sick ones.
I was sitting, with a newspaper in my hand—not reading, but musing—at the "Sickle and Sheaf," late in the evening marked by the incidents just detailed.
"Where's your mother?" I heard Simon Slade inquire. He had just entered an adjoining room.
"She's gone out somewhere," was answered by his daughter Flora.
