THE STRIKE AT SHANE'S, 65 



words were present iu his memory. Her face and 

 voice reminded him of one that he had known long 

 ago — one that he had loved in the years gone by. 

 Who could it be? Why, Mary his wife, of course, 

 whom he had almost forgotten that he ever loved, and 

 when he married her she looked like Edith ; why to be 

 sure, and he had almost forgotten it. He felt an 

 indescribable desire to tell her that he loved her yet, 

 and called her to him. When she came and stood 

 beside his bed the vision created by a sick man's fancy 

 faded ; for it was not Edith's bright and sunny face 

 that bent over him, but his wife's, and the twenty 

 years that she had toiled by his side had left their 

 mark there. The youth and beauty had gone, and her 

 hair was streaked with gray. It was Mary Shane that 

 stood beside him, and not the vision of Mary Malott 

 that Edith's face had recalled ; and he was John Shane 

 again with wrinkled face and stooping shoulders. The 

 vision had faded and the words of affection that his 

 lips should have uttered were left unsaid. 



"Did you want something, John?" 



"Only a little assistance in changing my position," 

 he replied. 



That done, she started away. His conscience smote 

 him and the vision came back. He recalled her and 

 she returned to his bedside. 



"What is it, John?" she inquired. 



"I am lonely to-night," he replied; "can't you sit 

 with me a while?'* 



"Why, yes ; all night if you need me." 



