ith her innocent eyes wide. "He has no right
to desert her. She will die if she is not properly cared for," turning
to McCall.

"Do you stay with me: don't leave me," holding Kitty's sleeve. "If you
would nurse me, I should get well."

"It is impossible that the lady should nurse you," said Pollard.

Kitty sat down: she began to tremble and turn white. "She has nobody
but me. I'll stay," she said quietly.

McCall beckoned his fellow-physician out into the corridor.

"My dear fellow--" Pollard began.

"No: I know you sympathize with me. But we will not talk of this
matter. Is that woman dying?"

"I'm afraid--that is, I think not. She is decidedly better to-day than
she was last night. With care she may recover."

Kitty came out and stood with them in the corridor. McCall looked at
her with amazement. The shy, silly school-girl, afraid to find her
way about Berrytown, bore herself in this desperate juncture like the
sagest of matrons.

"Is there no hospital to which she can be taken?" she said to Pollard.

"Yes, of course, of course."

"I'll go with her there, then. You know," laying her hand on McCall's
arm, "you _did_ marry her. You ought to try to help her poor body and
soul as long as she lives."

"Would you have me take her as my wife again?"

"Not for an hour!" cried Kitty vehemently. She went into the cell, but
came back in a moment: "Will you bring me some breakfast? I shall not
be of much use here until it comes."

"She has more of the angel in her than any woman I ever knew,"
muttered McCall.

"She has a good deal of common sense, apparently," rejoined Pollard.

* * * * *

Kitty went with McCall's wife to the hospital, and helped to nurse her
for a week. Pains and chills and nausea she could help, but for the
deeper disease of soul, for the cure of which Kitty prayed on her
knees, often with tears, there was little hope in her simple remedies,
unless the cure and its evidence lay deep enough for only God's eye to
see.

The woman's nature, of a low type at birth, had grown more brutal
with every year of drunkenness and vice. She died at last, alone with
Kitty.

"She said, the last thing, 'God be merciful to me a sinner!'"
Kitty told the chaplain. "But I am afraid she hardly understood the
meaning."

"He understood, my dear child. We can leave her with Him, You must
go home now: you have done all you could. Doctor McCall will go with
you?"

"No, I shall