"Who are you?" inquired Mrs. ” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. You're in a more serious scrape than you imagine. Is there anything you want?" She laid her hand on his forehead, and found it without fever. What's all this about, anyhow? You. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. “You may talk—if you can talk cheerfully, not unless. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. “Freedom! Citizenship! And the way to that—the way to everything—is the Vote. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years.
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