only Morris and
Wilford remained to watch that heavy slumber so nearly resembling death.

CHAPTER XL.

MORRIS' CONFESSION.

Gradually the noise in the streets died away; the tread of feet, the
rumbling wheels and the tinkle of the car bells ceased, and not a sound
was heard, save as the distant fire bells pealed forth their warning
voices, or some watchman went hurrying by. The great city was asleep,
and to Morris the silence brooding over the countless throng was deeper,
more solemn than the silence of the country where nature gives out her
own mysterious notes and lullabies for her sleeping children. Slowly the
minutes went by, and Morris became at last aware that Wilford's eyes,
instead of resting on the pallid face which seemed to grow each moment
more pallid and ghastly, were fixed on him with an expression which made
him drop the pale hand he held between his own, pooring it occasionally
as a mother might poor and pity the hand of her dying baby.

Before his marriage a jealous thought of Morris Grant had found a
lodgment in Wilford's breast; but remembering the past he had tried to
drive it out, and fancied that he had succeeded, experiencing a sudden
shock when he felt it lifting its green head, and poisoning his mind
against the man doing for Katy only what a brother might do, or rather,
against the motives which prompted this man's devotion. He forgot that
it was his own entreaties which had kept Morris there, refusing to let
him go even for a day to the other patients missing him so much, and
complaining of his absence. Jealous men never reason clearly, and in
this case Wilford did not reason at all, but jumped readily at his
conclusion, calling to his aid as proof all that he had ever seen pass
between Katy and her cousin. That Morris Grant loved Katy was, after a
few moment's reflection, as fixed a fact in his mind as that she lay
there between them, her eyelids quivering, and her lips moaning feebly
as if about to speak. Years before, when Genevra was the wife, jealousy
had made Wilford almost a madman, and it now held him again in its
powerful grasp, whispering suggestions he would have spurned in a calm
frame of mind. There was a clinching of his fist, a knitting of his
brows, and a gathering blackness in his eyes as he listened while Katy,
rousing partially from her lethargy, talked of the days when she was a
little girl, and Morris had built the playhouse for her by the brook,
where the tho