legal white washing he was promised, he would have nothing to do with
thieves and perjurers. What was the result? After twenty years of
legal practice he was still a poor man and here on his deathbed,
suddenly struck down in the prime of life before he had time to
properly provide for his dear ones.

Probably there was no insurance. In fact, everyone knew that there was
not. Blaine had admitted as much to him some time ago. He had said
then that he had only $2,000 worth, but intended getting more. Now it
was too late. Only a few paltry dollars--barely enough to bury him.

The comfortably furnished room with its piano, books and pictures and
other scattered evidence of culture and refinement, showed the manner
in which the Blaines liked to live. Through the open window, affording
a fine view of Central Park, with its rolling lawns, winding paths and
masses of green foliage, came the distant sounds of busy traffic on
the Avenue, ten stories below. Of course, they would have to give up
all this. There was not the slightest hope for the patient. He was
past human aid. It was only a question of a few hours, perhaps only
minutes, when the end would come. Yet how could he break the terrible
truth to this poor woman, to these children who now stood watching
him, their lips not daring to give utterance to the dread question he
could plainly read in their tired, red eyes?

There was an unnatural silence. When anyone spoke it was in an almost
inaudible whisper. Each seemed to feel that Death, grim and awful of
aspect, was stalking invisible through the room. From behind the
closed door where the father and husband lay dying there came no
sound. Only an occasional sob from the wife, and the movements of the
two girls as they endeavored to console her, relieved the oppressive