It is not for myself I fear. There was—a service. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. "No; but I shall, before he retires to rest. You must let me take you to things—to meetings and things, to conferences and talks. My late husband, I mean. The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. As the night advanced, Mr.
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