for that. But, dear friend"--as she saw him wince--"I'm not proud any
longer. I think Death very soon shows us how little--pride--matters; it
falls into its right perspective when one is nearing the end of things.
I'm so little proud now that I've sent for you to ask your help."

"Anything--anything!" he said eagerly.

"It's rather a big thing that I'm going to ask, I'm afraid. I want you,"
she spoke slowly, as though to focus his attention, "to take care of my
child--when I am gone."

He stared at her doubtfully.

"But her father? Will he consent?" he asked.

"He is dead. I received the news of his death six months ago. There is
no one--no one who has any claim upon her. And no one upon whom she has
any claim, poor little atom!"--smiling rather bitterly. "Ah! Don't
deny me!"--her thin, eager hands clung to his--"don't deny me--say that
you'll take her!"

"Deny you? But, of course I shan't deny you. I'm only thankful that you
have turned to me at last--that you have not quite forgotten!"

"Forgotten?" Her voice vibrated. "Believe me or not, as you will,
there has never been a day for nine long years when I have not
remembered--never a night when I have not prayed God to bless you----"
She broke off, her mouth working uncontrollably.

Very quietly, very tenderly, he drew her into his arms. There was no