twitching slightly. "You must care for him; it is his right; and he
will--I swear to you I know he will--care for you."

In his own mind there was another thought, a hard, strange thought; and
it had to do with the possibility of his brother not caring for this
wife.

Still she did not speak.

"To a good woman, with a good husband," he continued, "there is no one--
there should be no one--like the father of her child. And no woman ever
loved her child more than you do yours." He knew that this was special
pleading.

She trembled, and then dropped her cheek beside the child's. "I want
Frank to be happy," he went on; "there is no one I care more for than
for Frank."

She lifted her face to him now, in it a strange light. Then her look ran
to confusion, and she seemed to read all that he meant to convey. He
knew she did. He touched her shoulder.

"You must do the best you can every way, for Frank's sake, for all our
sakes. I will help you--God knows I will--all I can."

"Ah, yes, yes," she whispered, from the child's pillow.

He could see the flame in her cheek. "I understand." She put out her
hand to him, but did not look up. "Leave me alone with my baby,
Richard," she pleaded.