"Father! father! Come back!"

The prisoner, who was just disappearing through the door, stopped,
turned about, his pale face convulsed with a sudden agony. He took
a step toward his son, who had run toward the bar after him.

"My son, be brave," he said in a voice audible throughout the room.
"Be brave. I shall see you to-morrow."

He waved his hand toward his son, turned again and passed out with
the officer.

Through the staring crowd came a little lady with white hair and
a face pale and chastened into sweetness.

"Let me come with you," she said to Paulina, while the tears
coursed down her cheeks.

The Galician woman understood not a word, but the touch upon her
arm, the tone in the voice, the flowing tears were a language she
could understand. Paulina raised her dull, tear-dimmed eyes, and
for a brief moment gazed into the pale face above her, then without
further word rose and, followed by her children, accompanied the
little lady from the room, the crowd making respectful way before
the pathetic group.

"Say, O'Hara, there are still angels going about," said young Dr.
Wright, following the group with his eyes.

"Be Hivin!" replied the tender-hearted Irishman, his eyes suddenly