The little waif won my
heart at once, and it was a severe test of my self-denial that I had
to repress my desire to kiss it. I somehow felt that my friend ought
to be the first to recognize it as a member of his household.
"Storm," I said, looking up at his pale, vacant face. "It is a
dangerous thing to covet one's neighbor's child. But, if you don't
adopt this little dumb supplicant, I fear you will tempt me to break
the tenth commandment. I believe there is a clause there about
coveting children."
Storm opened his eyes wide, and with an effort to rouse himself,
pushed back the chair and knelt down at the side of the basket. With a
gentle movement he drew off the cover under which the child slept, and
discovered on its bosom a letter which he eagerly seized. As he
glanced at the direction of the envelope, his face underwent a
marvellous change; it was as if a mask had suddenly been removed,
revealing a new type of warmer, purer, and tenderer manhood.
The letter read as follows:
"DEAREST EDMUND:
It has gone all wrong with me. You know I would not come to if there
was any other hope left. As for myself, I do not care what becomes
of me, but you will not forsake my little girl. Will you dear
Edmund? I know you will not.
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