"What's the matter with your daughter?" I asked, for my whole heart went out to the woman in her grief.
"Well, ma'am, we don't hardly know. But it began with a cruel bad cough more'n six months ago—an' it keeps always gettin' a little worse. She got it at the factory—her and Martha both worked in the knittin' factory, an' the air was so bad, and the hours was so long; but she just had to keep workin' on, ma'am, 'cause their father's dead, and there's two younger than them. I earn a little now an' again, goin' out washin'—but it was really Jennie and Martha that kep' the home goin'," the woman concluded, heaving a weary sigh.
"What factory was your daughter in?" I asked.
"Oh, in Mr. Ashton's—Ashton & Quirk," the woman answered, "an' they don't seem to care anythin' for the hands—excep' gettin' the work out o' them," she added, with another sigh; "Jennie wanted to stop and rest, first along, when she wasn't feelin' good—but they said another girl would get her job if she stopped. So she had to go on as long as she could. I guess we'll go in now, sir; we won't be long, ma'am," as she led Gordon from the room.
As I sat alone I could hear the dull hacking cough at frequent intervals, sometimes with sounds of struggle and of choking. Then would come a stillness, broken by the low sound of voices; and soon I could catch Gordon's rich tones in prayer. I could not hear the words, but a nameless power seemed to accompany the sound; I knew that his very heart and life were being given to the holy task.
A few minutes later Gordon came softly into the room where I was waiting. "Come on in," he said; "come on in and see Jennie. I'm sure it would do her good."
I hesitated. "Is she dying?" I asked.
Gordon nodded. "It's consumption," he said.
"Oh, Gordon, don't ask me to go. I'm so frightened of death; and I couldn't help her any—I couldn't say a word," for if I ever felt my helplessness, it was then. "I'm afraid I would only be in the way," I supplemented, not without much sincerity.
"A loving heart's never in the way," my husband answered in the lowest tone. His face, radiant a moment before from its sacred duty, was now shadowed with sorrow; his eyes gave me a final glance of loneliness and longing as he turned to go back to the dying bed.