"Papa!"

"My strength is failing rapidly. It was all that I could do to creep home
to-night. My trembling limbs, my labored breathing, and this dreadful
cough, all warn me that I must set my house in order, and make provision
for your future."

It was an apparently old man who spoke thus, and yet the years of his life
numbered but a little over fifty.

His hair was silvery white; his face was colorless and haggard, his eyes
dim and sunken, and his form was much attenuated and bowed by the disease
which was fast consuming him.

He was sitting by a blazing fire, in an ordinary easy-chair over which a
heavy coverlid had been thrown to make it more comfortable; but he
shivered, and hovered over the blaze, as if he were chilled to the very
marrow, while the hands which he held extended to catch the warmth were
livid, and trembling from weakness.

The room was small, but cozy and home-like. A cheap, coarse carpet, though
of a bright and tasteful pattern, lay upon the floor. An oval table,
covered with a daintily embroidered cloth, stood in the center. There was
a pretty lamp, with a bright Japanese shade upon it. There were also a few
books in choice bindings, and a dainty work-basket filled with implements
for sewing. A few pictures--some done with pen and ink, others in crayon,
but all showing great talent and nicety of execution--hung, in simple
frames, upon the walls. The two windows of the apartment were screened by
pretty curtains of spotless muslin over heavier hangings of crimson, while
a lounge and two or three chairs completed the furnishing of the room.