nvince him," she said quietly. "That is meant. If I did not
God would strike him down. He would be cut off. But I shall make him
know himself."

And then she repeated, with a sort of feeble but intense conviction,

"If I did not God would strike him down--yes--yes."

Something--perhaps the fact that her mother was so near death, so close
to that great secret,--made her words, faltering though they were, go
home to Catherine with the most extraordinary poignancy, as words had
never gone before. She felt that it was true, that there was no
alternative. Either Mark must be convinced now, by this bedside, in
this hot, dark room from which a soul was passing, or he would, by some
accident, by some sudden means, be swept away from the world that he was
injuring, that he was poisoning.

Mrs. Ardagh seemed to grow more feeble with every moment that passed.
And suddenly a great fear overtook Catherine, the dread that Mark would
come too late, and then--God's other means! She trembled, and strained
her ears to catch the sound of wheels. Mrs. Ardagh now seemed to be
sinking into sleep--Catherine strove to rouse her. She stirred and said,
"What is it?" in a voice that sounded peevish.

Just then there was a gentle tap on the door. Catherine sprang up, and
hastened to it with a fast beating heart. Mr. Ardagh stood there.

"How is she?" he whispered.

"I think she is not in pain. She is just resting. Has Mark come?"

"No."

"Please send him up directly he comes."

She spoke with a hushed, but with an intense, excitement.

"I want him to--to say good-bye to her," she added.

Mr. Ardagh nodded, and went softly downstairs.

"Is that he--is that William Foster?" said Mrs. Ardagh feebly from the
bed.

"No, mother. But he will be here directly."

"I'm very tired," said the sick woman in reply. And again her thin voice
sounded irritable.

Catherine sat down by her and held her hand tightly, as if that grasp
could keep her in this life. A few minutes passed. Then there was the
sound of a cab in the Square. It ceased in front of the house. Catherine
could scarcely breathe. She bent down to the dying woman.

"Mother!"

"Well?"

"Mother, he has come--but I want to tell you something--are you
listening?"

"Move the pillow."

Catherine did so.

"Mother, I want to tell you. William Foster is----"

The bedroom door opened and Mark entered softly. Catherine stood up,
still holding her mother's hand, which was now very