"I'm not well, sir," said Alida humbly. "I only ask for a quiet place where I
can rest till strong enough to do some kind of work."

"Well, well," said Tom kindly, "don't lose heart. We'll do the best by you we
can. That aint saying very much, though, for we're full and running over."

He soon drew rein at the poorhouse door and sprang out. "I--I--feel strange,"
Alida gasped.

Tom caught the fainting woman in his arms and shouted, "Here, Bill, Joe! You
lazy loons, where are you?"

Three or four half wrecks of men shuffled to his assistance, and together they
bore the unconscious woman to the room which was used as a sort of hospital.
Some old crones gathered around with such restoratives as they had at command.
Gradually the stricken woman revived, but as the whole miserable truth came
back, she turned her face to the wall with a sinking of heart akin to despair.
At last, from sheer exhaustion, feverish sleep ensued, from which she often
started with moans and low cries. One impression haunted her--she was
falling, ever falling into a dark, bottomless abyss.

Hours passed in the same partial stupor, filled with phantoms and horrible
dreams. Toward evening, she aroused herself mechanically to take the broth
Mrs. Watterly ordered her to swallow, then relapsed into the same lethargy.
Late in the night, she became conscious that someone was kneeling at her
bedside and fondling her. She started up with a slight cry.

"Don't be afraid; it's only me, dear," said a quavering voice.

In the dim rays of a night lamp, Alida saw an old woman with gray hair falling