, though, was the greater. However much his voice
might shake, the hand he laid upon her arm was singularly steady.

"Katharine, my dear wife," he said; "I must beg you not to go away from
the house just now."

"Why not?" Katharine's voice was metallic in its hardness.

"I am afraid you will be sorry for ever, if you do. The baby--"

She shook his hand away.

"It is for the baby I am going, Scott. Here and alone, I am powerless
to counteract the harm you do. I must have help."

"What help?" he asked her hoarsely, while his eyes, almost unseeingly,
were busy with a thin trickle of water that clung to the front breadths
of her pale-brown gown.

"The help of my church, of their combined prayers. Alone, I can do
nothing. I must ask them all to help me, if my baby boy is to be saved
from the consequences of his father's doubts."

"Katharine!"

But, with a flutter of her skirts, she had vanished from the room,
smiling and self-reliant and very, very smug. To her belief, she had
borne down the ignorant oppression of the unbeliever; she had given
testimony to her indomitable confidence in her new creed; she was about
to give still stronger testimony to the indomitable healing power of
that same creed.

And Brenton, left alone, shut his teeth hard upon the ugly words that
struggled to his lips. Then, white and wan, less from his all-night
vigil than from the five-minute altercation with his wife, he turned
away and re-entered the room where the child was lying.

It needed no eye skilled in watching the advance of death to be aware
that the little life was ebbing fast. The look of waxiness had been
increasing, all night long; the breathing was becoming fitful; the tiny
figure seemed relaxed in every weakening limb. The eyes, though heavy
and lustreless, were wide, wide open, and the white little lips wavered
into a ghost of a smile, as Brenton crossed the threshold. Then one
little hand stirred ever so slightly, strove to lift itself in
greeting, failed.

"Daddy's boy!" Brenton said, as bravely as he could.

The ghost of the smile grew a bit stronger, as Brenton sat down beside
the crib and, after his custom of these later days, held out one brown
forefinger. Instantly, the wan little claw closed around the finger,
the baby nestled slightly, and then fell into a light doze.

The nurse's voice, when she spoke, failed to penetrate the doze.

"I called up Doctor Keltridge, and he said he had a broken hip to set
at