To the nurse of the Delancy boy and to his mother he was by no means an old story or merely an incident of the year. He was an increasing wonder--new every morning, and exciting every evening. He was the centre of a world of solicitude and adoration. It would be scarcely too much to say that his coming into the world promised a new era, and his traits, his likes and dislikes, set a new standard in his court. If he had apprehended his position his vanity would have outgrown his curiosity about the world, but he displayed no more consciousness of his royalty than a kicking Infanta of Spain. This was greatly to his credit in the opinion of the nurse, who devoted herself to the baby with that enthusiasm of women for infants which fortunately never fails, and won the heart of Edith by her worship. And how much they found to say about this marvel! To hear from the nurse, over and over again, what the baby had done and had not done, in a given hour, was to Edith like a fresh chapter out of an exciting romance.

And the boy's biographer is inclined to think that he had rare powers of discrimination, for one day when Carmen had called and begged to be permitted to go up into the nursery, and had asked to take him in her arms just for a moment, notwithstanding her soft dress and her caressing manner, Fletcher had made a wry face and set up a howl. "How much he looks like his father" (he didn't look like anything), Carmen said, handing him over to the nurse. What she thought was that in manner and disposition he was totally unlike Jack Delancy.

When they came down-stairs, Mrs. Schuyler Blunt was in the drawing-room. "I've had such a privilege, Mrs. Blunt, seeing the baby!" cried Carmen, in her sweetest manner.

"It must have been," that lady rejoined, stiffly.

Carmen, who hated to be seen through, of all things, did not know whether to resent this or not. But Edith hastened to the rescue of her guest.

"I think it's a privilege."

"And you know, Mrs. Blunt," said Carmen, recovering herself and smiling, "that I must have some excitement this dull season."

"I see," said Mrs. Blunt, with no relaxation of her manner; "we are all grateful to Mrs. Delancy."

"Mrs. Henderson does herself injustice," Edith again interposed. "I can assure you she has a great talent for domesticity."

Carmen did not much fancy this apology for her, but she rejoined: "Yes, indeed. I'm going to cultivate it."

"How is this privileged person?" Mrs. Blunt asked.

"You shall see," said Edith. "I am glad you came, for I wanted very much to consult you. I was going to send for you."

"Well, here I am. But I didn't come about the baby. I wanted to consult you. We miss you, dear, every day." And then Mrs. Blunt began to speak about some social and charitable arrangements, but stopped suddenly. "I'll see the baby first. Good-morning, Mrs. Henderson." And she left the room.

Carmen felt as much left out socially as about the baby, and she also rose to go.

"Don't go," said Edith. "What kind of a summer have you had?"

"Oh, very good. Some shipwrecks."

"And Mr. Henderson? Is he well?"

"Perfectly. He is away now. Husbands, you know, haven't so much talent for domesticity as we have."

"That depends," Edith replied, simply, but with that spirit and air of breeding before which Carmen always inwardly felt defeat--"that depends very much upon ourselves."

Naturally, with this absorption in the baby, Edith was slow to resume her old interests. Of course she knew of the illness of Father Damon, and the nurse, who was from the training-school in which Dr. Leigh was an instructor, and had been selected for this important distinction by the doctor, told her from time to time of affairs on the East Side. Over there the season had opened quite as usual; indeed, it was always open; work must go on every day, because every day food must be obtained and rent-money earned, and the change from summer to winter was only a climatic increase of hardships. Even an epidemic scare does not essentially vary the daily monotony, which is accepted with a dogged fatality:

There had been no vacation for Ruth Leigh, and she jokingly said, when at length she got a half-hour for a visit to Edith, that she would hardly know what to do with one if she had it.

"We have got through very well," she added. "We always dread the summer, and we always dread the winter. Science has not yet decided which is the more fatal, decayed vegetables or unventilated rooms. City residence gives both a fair chance at the poor."

"Are not the people learning anything?" Edith asked.

"Not much, except to bear it, I am sorry to say. Even Father Damon--"

"Is he at work again? Do you see him often?"

"Yes, occasionally."

"I should so like to see him. But I interrupted you."

"Well, Father Damon has come to see that nothing can be done without organization. The masses"--and there was an accent of bitterness in her use of the phrase--"must organize and fight for anything they want."

"Does Father Damon join in this?"

"Oh, he has always been a member of the Labor League. Now he has been at work with the Episcopal churches of the city, and got them to agree, when they want workmen for any purpose, to employ only union men."

"Isn't that," Edith exclaimed, "a surrender of individual rights and a great injustice to men not in the unions?"

"You would see it differently if you were in the struggle. If the working-men do not stand by each other, where are they to look for help? What have the Christians of this city done?" and the little doctor got up and began to pace the room. "Charities? Yes, little condescending charities. And look at the East Side! Is its condition any better? I tell you, Mrs. Delancy, I don't believe in charities--in any charities."

"It seems to me," said Edith, with a smile calculated to mollify this vehemence, "that you are a standing refutation of your own theory."

"Me? No, indeed. I'm paid by the dispensary. And I make my patients pay--when they are able."

"So I have heard," Edith retorted. "Your bills must be a terror to the neighborhood."

"You may laugh. But I'm establishing a reputation over there as a working-woman, and if I have any influence, or do any little good, it's owing to that fact. Do you think they care anything about Father Damon's gospel?"

"I should be sorry to think they did not," Edith said, gravely.

"Well, very little they care. They like the man because they think he shares their feelings, and does not sympathize with them because they are different from him. That is the only kind of gospel that is good for anything over there."

"I don't think Father Damon would agree with you in that."

"Of course he would not. He's as mediaeval as any monk. But then he is not blind. He sees that it is never anything but personal influence that counts. Poor fellow," and the doctor's voice softened, "he'll kill himself with his ascetic notions. He is trying to take up the burden of this life while struggling under the terror of another."

"But he must be doing a great deal of good."

"Oh, I don't know. Nothing seems to do much good. But his presence is a great comfort. That is something. And I'm glad he is going about now rousing opposition to what is, rather than all the time preaching submission to the lot of this life for the sake of a reward somewhere else. That's a gospel for the rich."

Edith was accustomed to hear Ruth Leigh talk in this bitter strain when this subject was introduced, and she contrived to turn the conversation upon what she called practical work, and then to ask some particulars of Father Damon's sudden illness.

"He did rest," the doctor said, "for a little, in his way. But he will not spare himself, and he cannot stand it. I wish you could induce him to come here often--to do anything for diversion. He looks so worn."

There was in the appeal to Edith a note of personal interest which her quick heart did not fail to notice. And the thought came to her with a painful apprehension. Poor thing! Poor Father Damon!

Does not each of them have to encounter misery enough without this?

Doesn't life spare anybody?

She told her apprehension to Jack when he came home.

Jack gave a long whistle. "That is a deadlock!"

"His vows, and her absolute materialism! Both of them would go to the stake for what they believe, or don't believe. It troubles me very much."

"But," said Jack, "it's interesting. It's what they call a situation. There. I didn't mean to make light of it. I don't believe there is anything in it. But it would be comical, right here in New York."

"It would be tragical."

"Comedy usually is. I suppose it's the human nature in it. That is so difficult to get rid of. But I thought the missionary business was safe. Though, do you know, Edith, I should think better of both of them for having some human feeling. By-the-way, did Dr. Leigh say anything about Henderson?"

"No. What?"

"He has given Father Damon ten thousand dollars. It's in strict secrecy, but Father Damon said I might tell you. He said it was providential."

"I thought Mr. Henderson was wholly unscrupulous and cold as ice."

"Yes, he's got a reputation for freeze-outs. If the Street knew this it would say it was insurance money. And he is so cynical that he wouldn't care what the Street said."

"Do you think it came about through Mrs. Henderson?"

"I don't think so. She was speaking of Father Damon this morning in the Loan Exhibition. I don't believe she knows anything about it. Henderson is a good deal shut up in himself. They say at the Union that years ago he used to do a good many generous things--that he is a great deal harder than he used to be."

This talk was before dinner. She did not ask anything now about Carmen, though she knew that Jack had fallen into his old habit of seeing much of her. He was less and less at home, except at dinner-time, and he was often restless, and, she saw, often annoyed. When he was at home he tried to make up for his absence by extra tenderness and consideration for Edith and the boy. And this effort, and its evidence of a double if not divided life, wounded her more than the neglect. One night, when he came home late, he had been so demonstrative about the baby that Edith had sent the nurse out of the room until she could coax Jack to go into his own apartment. His fits of alternate good-humor and depression she tried to attribute to his business, to which he occasionally alluded without confiding in her.

The next morning Father Damon came in about luncheon-time. He apologized for not coming before since her return, but he had been a little upset, and his work was more and more interesting. His eyes were bright and his manner had quite the usual calm, but he looked pale and thinner, and so exhausted that Edith ran immediately for a glass of wine, and began to upbraid him for not taking better care of himself.

"I take too much care of myself. We all do. The only thing I've got to give is myself."

"But you will not last."

"That is of little moment; long or short, a man can only give himself. Our Lord was not here very long." And then Father Damon smiled, and said "My dear friend, I'm really doing very well. Of course I get tired. Then I come up again. And every now and then I get a lift. Did Jack tell you about Henderson?"

"Yes. Wasn't it strange?"

"I never was more surprised. He sent for me to come to his office. Without any circumlocution, he asked me how I was getting on, and, before I could answer, he said, in the driest business way, that he had been thinking over a little plan, and perhaps I could help him. He had a little money he wanted to invest--RR"'In our mission chapel?' I asked.

"'No,' he said, without moving a muscle. 'Not that. I don't know much about chapels, Father Damon. But I've been hearing what you are doing, and it occurred to me that you must come across a good many cases not in the regular charities that you could help judiciously, get them over hard spots, without encouraging dependence. I'm going to put ten thousand dollars into your hands, if you'll be bothered with it, to use at your discretion.'

"I was taken aback, and I suppose I showed it, and I said that was a great deal of money to intrust to one man.

"Henderson showed a little impatience. It depended upon the man. That was his lookout. The money would be deposited, he said, in bank to my order, and he asked me for my signature that he could send with the deposit.

"Of course I thanked him warmly, and said I hoped I could do some good with it. He did not seem to pay much attention to what I was saying. He was looking out of the window to the bare trees in the court back of his office, and his hands were moving the papers on his table aimlessly about.

"'I shall know,' he said, 'when you have drawn this out. I've got a fancy for keeping a little fund of this sort there.' And then he added, still not looking at me, but at the dead branches, 'You might call it the Margaret Fund.'"

"That was the name of his first wife!" Edith exclaimed.

"Yes, I remember. I said I would, and began to thank him again as I rose from my chair. He was still looking away, and saying, as if to himself, 'I think she would like that.' And then he turned, and, in his usual abrupt office manner, said: 'Good-morning, good-morning. I am very much obliged to you.'"

"Wasn't it all very strange!" Edith spoke, after a moment. "I didn't suppose he cared. Do you think it was just sentiment?"

"I shouldn't wonder. Men like Henderson do queer things. In the hearts of such hardened men there are sometimes roots of sentiment that you wouldn't suspect. But I don't know. The Lord somehow looks out for his poor."

Notwithstanding this windfall of charity, Father Damon seemed somewhat depressed. "I wish," he said, after a pause, "he had given it to the mission. We are so poor, and modern philanthropy all runs in other directions. The relief of temporary suffering has taken the place of the care of souls."

"But Dr. Leigh said that you were interesting the churches in the labor unions."

"Yes. It is an effort to do something. The church must put herself into sympathetic relations with these people, or she will accomplish nothing. To get them into the church we must take up their burdens. But it is a long way round. It is not the old method of applying the gospel to men's sins."

"And yet," Edith insisted, "you must admit that such people as Dr. Leigh are doing a good work."

Father Damon did not reply immediately. Presently he asked: "Do you think, Mrs. Delancy, that Dr. Leigh has any sympathy with the higher life, with spiritual things? I wish I could think so."

"With the higher life of humanity, certainly."

"Ah, that is too vague. I sometimes feel that she and those like her are the worst opponents to our work. They substitute humanitarianism for the gospel."

"Yet I know of no one who works more than Ruth Leigh in the self-sacrificing spirit of the Master."

"Whom she denies!" The quick reply came with a flush in his pale face, and he instantly arose and walked away to the window and stood for some moments in silence. When he turned there was another expression in his eyes and a note of tenderness in his voice that contradicted the severity of the priest. It was the man that spoke. "Yes, she is the best woman I ever knew. God help me! I fear I am not fit for my work."

This outburst of Father Damon to her, so unlike his calm and trained manner, surprised Edith, although she had already some suspicion of his state ............