disappointment, of good intentions frustrated, of hopes that deceive, and of fair prospects that turn to ashes, of good lives that go wrong, of sweet natures turned to bitterness in the unaided struggle.  His voice grew stronger and clearer, as his body responded to the kindling theme in his soul.  He stepped away from the desk nearer the rail, the bowed head was raised.  “What does it matter?” he said.  “It is only for a little while, my children.”  Those who heard him that day say that his face shone like that of an angel, and that his voice was like a victorious clarion, so clear, so sweet, so inspiring, as he spoke of the life that is to come, and the fair certainty of that City where he with them all wished to be.

As he closed, some were kneeling, many were crying; all, profoundly moved, watched him as, with the benediction and the sign of the cross, he turned and walked swiftly to the door of the sacristy.  It opened, and then Ruth Leigh heard a cry, “Father Damon!  Father Damon!” and there was a rush into the chancel.  Hastening through the throng, which promptly made way for the doctor, she found Father Damon lying across the threshold, as he had fallen, colorless and unconscious.  She at once took command of the situation.  The body was lifted to the plain couch in the room, a hasty examination was made of pulse and heart, a vial of brandy was produced from her satchel, and messengers were despatched for things needed, and especially for beef-tea.

“Is he dead, Dr. Leigh?  Is he any better, doctor?  What is the matter, doctor?”

“Want of nourishment,” replied Dr. Leigh, savagely.

The room was cleared of all except a couple of stout lads and a friendly German woman whom the doctor knew.  The news of the father’s sudden illness had spread rapidly, with the report that he had fallen dead while standing at the altar; and the church was thronged, and the street rapidly blocked up with a hushed crowd, eager for news and eager to give aid.  So great was the press that the police had to interfere, and push back the throng from the door.  It was useless to attempt to disperse it with the assurance that Father Damon was better; it patiently waited to see for itself.  The sympathy of the neighborhood was most impressive, and perhaps the thing that the public best remembers about this incident is the pathetic solicitude of the people among whom Father Damon labored at the rumor of his illness, a matter which was greatly elaborated by the reporters from the city journals and the purveyors of telegraphic news for the country.

With the application of restoratives the patient revived.  When he opened his eyes he saw figures in the room as in a dream, and his mind struggled to remember where he was and what had happened; but one thing was not a dream:  Dr. Leigh stood by his bedside, with her left hand on his brow and the right grasping his own right hand, as if to pull him back to life.  He saw her face, and then he lost it again in sheer weariness at the effort.  After a few moments, in a recurring wave of strength, he looked up again, still bewildered, and said, faintly: