If it comes again to-night, I think it will make an end of me." She sat down by the bedside.

He lay quite still for some time, breathing like one very weary.

Then he seemed to grow easier, and said, with much gentleness: "Can't you talk to me ?" "Would you like me to read to you ?" she asked.
"No," he answered; "I can't bear the light; it makes my head furious." "Shall I talk to you about my father ?" she asked.
"I don't believe in fathers," he replied.

"They're always after some notion of their own.

It's not their children they care about." "That may be true of some fathers," answered Mary; "but it is not the least true of mine." "Where is he?
Why don't you bring him to see me, if he is such a good man?
He might be able to do something for me." "There is none but your own father can do anything for you," said Mary.
"My father is gone home to him, but if he were here, he would only tell you about _him_." There was a moment's silence.
"Why don't you talk ?" said Mr.Redmain, crossly.