"Before we part, my friend, tell me where you live."

"Away over in the poorest part o' Twinty-sivinth Street, sorr."

"And how old is your grandson?"

"He'll be eleven next birthday."

"Is he seriously injured?"

Then tears came into the old man's eyes. For once his splendid courage wavered.

"They wouldn't tell me at the hospital, an' that's the truth, sorr; but a polisman who helped to pull him from undher the wagon said he thought he had escaped the worrst."

"Are you and Jimmy known to any of the priests at the cathedral?"

"Sure, sorr, don't they all know us? I remimber Canon M'Evoy comin'

there twinty-foive years ago."

"And now, Rafferty, as one friend to another, will you let me help you?"

"Musha, an' is it beggin' you think I am?" and a gleam of Celtic fire shone through the mist of anguish.

"No. But you have given me good counsel tonight, and I am minded to pay for it."

"Faith, I haven't said a worrd that isn't plain for all min, an' women, too, to read, if they have a moind to look for it in the right place."

"Sometimes one needs reminding of that, and you have done it. Come, now.

Let me finance you with a few dollars, just to carry you along till Jimmy is around again."

Rafferty drew a knotted hand across his eyes, and then peered keenly into Power's face. What he saw there seemed to rea.s.sure him.

"Well, an' it's me that's the lucky man, an' no mistake!" he cried, while whole-hearted joy seemed to make him young again. "I'll take your help in the spirit it's offered in, sorr. If the situation was reva.r.s.ed, I'd do what I could for you, because you have the look av a man who'd do unto others that which he wants others to do unto him. An', by that same token, I've as much chance av gettin' Jimmy's stand wid the papers as I have av bein' run for Prisident av the United States next fall."

Power took a folded note from his pocketbook.

"Put that where the cat can't get it," he said. "And now goodby, and thank you."

But something unusual in the aspect of the note caused Rafferty to open it.

"Sure, an' you were nearly committin' a terrible blundher!" he cried excitedly. "This is a hundred dollars, sorr, an' you'd be m'anin', mebbe, to give me a foive."

"No. Don't be vexed with me, but that amount of money will make things easy during the next month or so."

"The next month! Glory be to G.o.d, I can live like a prince for three months, on a hundred dollars!"

"I firmly believe that you will live better than most princes.... That's right. Stow it away carefully, and don't forget that I am still your debtor."

"Why, sorr, I can nivver repay you as long as I live."

"Oh, yes, you can. Remember me when you go to the cathedral tomorrow."

"Sorr, may I ax yer name?"

"Power--John Darien Power."

"Arrah, an' are ye Irish?"

"No."

"'Tis an Irish name, annyhow. But it matthers little what nation ye belong to. You're a rale Christian, an' 'tis writ in your face."

"There have been times when I would have doubted that; but the spirit of G.o.d has been abroad in New York tonight, and, perhaps, it has descended on me. Once more, goodby! I needn't wish you content, because you cinched that long ago."

"Ah, sorr, may Hivin bless ye! Manny's the heart you'll make light in this vale av tears, or I'm no judge av a man."

It seemed to Power's overwrought imagination as though Rafferty had suddenly a.s.sumed the guise and bearing of a supernatural being. Those concluding words rang in his ears as he hurried away. They had the sound of a message, an exhortation. The iron walls which appeared to encircle him had been cast down. His feet were set on an open road, fair and inviting, and he cared not whither it led so long as he escaped from the prison in which his soul might have been pent eternally.

Diving through a press of traffic, he reached the opposite side of a small square. A congestion of street-cars and other vehicles cleared during a brief interval, and, looking back, he saw the old man standing motionless, gazing up at the sky. At that instant a ragged urchin, carrying a bundle of papers, seemed to recognize Rafferty, and spoke to him.

The Irishman, called back to earth, bent over the youth, and, evidently obeying a generous impulse, added his own store of "returns" to those of the boy, patted him on the head, and pointed to a doorway.

Power could have repeated with tolerable accuracy every word that pa.s.sed, though the notable din of New York was quadrupled in that particular locality:

"Say, how's Jimmy, Mr. Rafferty?"

"Eh? Faix, he's mighty bad, but G.o.d is good, and mebbe he'll recover. Is it takin' in yer returns ye are? Well, now, here's some I don't want; so just add thim to yer own shtock, an' mind ye'll be afther takin' the money to yer mother. She needs it more'n I do, the poor sowl."

Then the man of faith recrossed Sixth Avenue, and was lost to sight.

In his room that night Power wrote to Marguerite:

"My dear Meg.--This is my first and last letter to you; so I pray you read it with sympathy. Today I bought a ring at a jeweler's intending it to be a token of our promised marriage. I am sending the ring, and I ask you to wear it in remembrance of one who must remain forever dead to you. The life of happiness we planned has turned to Dead Sea fruit; for I have been struck by a bolt from Heaven, and marriage becomes an impossibility. I would explain myself more clearly if explanation were not an insult. But I _must_ say this--no man could have foreseen the calamity which has befallen me, which has laid in wait throughout the long years to overwhelm me at last. That is all I dare tell you. Forgive me, dear one. I would not willingly cause you a pang; but Fate is stronger than I, and I am vanquished. Do you know me well enough to accept this statement in its crude truth? It cannot be gainsaid, it cannot be altered, time itself cannot a.s.suage its rigors. Do not write to me. I have no fear of reproach, which would never come from your dear lips, but your strong, brave words would wring my very heartstrings. And yet, I love you, and will grieve till the end that you should have been reft from me.

Farewell, then, my dear one.

Next morning he paid a visit to the clergy-house connected with the cathedral on Fifth Avenue. He asked a priest who received him if anything was known of an old man named Rafferty, who lived on West 27th Street, and had a grandson named Maguire.

"Yes," said the ecclesiastic. "I know Rafferty well, and esteem him most highly. In all New York there is no more G.o.d-fearing man."

Power smiled. "Fearing?" he questioned.

"Well, I accept the correction. 'Serving,' I should have said."

"And he really exists?"

"Undoubtedly. Why do you ask?"

"I fancied that, perhaps, the age of miracles had not pa.s.sed."

"Who says it has?"