CHAPTER ITI.

| SNC

ee drew her rosary from her
y pocket, and laid the crucifix on the
| forever speechless lips.

“¢ Aisy, aisy,” she said to the doctor.

“Just a minute,—the poor innocent child,
—just let me go over a prayer for her,
and if her mother has sense enough left
in her to ask for her, don’t tell her yet
how it is. Another grave dug with a wine-
— glass! Another grave dug with a wine-glass!
And the child so full of life not an hour
agone! Young life, poor child! Oh, why
should we mourn, cry and lament over those
called away before Satan, who watches his

turn, gets the black dross into their fresh
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