er fingers. "You've hurt him."

"Concussion, I think," said Mr. Simpson, with great presence of mind.

His wife helped him to a chair and, wetting her handkerchief at the tap,
tenderly bathed the dyed head. Mr. Cooper, breathing hard, stood by
watching until his wife touched him on the arm.

"You come off home," she said, in a hard voice. "You ain't wanted. Are
you going to stay here all night?"

"I should like to," said Mr. Cooper, wistfully.

THE THREE SISTERS

Thirty years ago on a wet autumn evening the household of Mallett's
Lodge was gathered round the death-bed of Ursula Mallow, the eldest of
the three sisters who inhabited it. The dingy moth-eaten curtains of
the old wooden bedstead were drawn apart, the light of a smoking oil-
lamp falling upon the hopeless countenance of the dying woman as she
turned her dull eyes upon her sisters. The room was in silence except
for an occasional sob from the youngest sister, Eunice. Outside the
rain fell steadily over the steaming marshes.

"Nothing is to be changed, Tabitha," gasped Ursula to the other sister,
who bore a striking likeness to her although her expression was harder
and colder; "this room is to be locked up and never opened."

"Very well," said Tabitha brusquely, "though I don't see how it can
matter to you then."

"It does matter," said her sister with startling energy. "How do you
know, how do I know that I may not sometimes visit it? I have lived in
this house so long I am certain that I shall see it again. I will come
back. Come back to watch over you both and see that no harm befalls
you."

"You are talking wildly," said Tabitha, by no means moved at her
sister's solicitude for her welfare. "Your mind is wandering; you know
that I have no faith in such things."

Ursula sighed, and beckoning to Eunice, who was weeping silently at the
bedside, placed her feeble arms around her neck and kissed her.

"Do not weep, dear," she said feebly. "Perhaps it is best so. A lonely
woman's life is scarce worth living. We have no hopes, no aspirations;
other women have had happy husbands and children, but we in this
forgotten place have grown old together. I go first, but you must soon
follow."

Tabitha, comfortably conscious of only forty years and an iron frame,
shrugged her shoulders and smiled grimly.

"I go first," repeated Ursula in a new and strange voice as her heavy
eyes slowly closed, "but I will come for each of y