o had seemed to Magdalen then so old and forlorn,
who, when she died, had only been a year or two older than Magdalen
herself was now.

And poor little wavering life sobbing in the room at the end of the
passage over some mysterious trouble.

The elder Fay lived on in the younger Fay. Was she also to be vanquished
by life, to become gradually embittered and resentful? There seemed to
be nothing in her lot to make her so. What was it, what could it be that
was casting a blight over Fay's life?

How to help her, how to release her from the self-imposed fetters in
which her mother had lived and--died.

Just as some persons have the power of making something new out of
refuse--paper out of rags--so Magdalen seemed to have the power of
cherishing and transforming the weaker, meaner elements of the
characters with which she came in contact. Certain qualities in those we
are inclined to love daunt us. Insincerity, callousness, selfishness,
treachery in its more refined aspects, these are apt to arouse at first
incredulity and at last scorn in us. But they aroused neither in
Magdalen. She saw them with clearness, and dealt tenderly with them.

What others discarded as worthless, she valued. To push aside the feeble
and intermittent affection of a closed and self-centred nature,
believing it is giving its best, what is that but to push aside a poor
man's little offering. Many years ago Magdalen had accepted not without
tears, one such offering from a very poor man indeed.

Loving-kindness, tenderness, have their warped, stunted shoots as well
as their free-growing, stately blossoms. It is the same marvellous,
fragrant life struggling to come forth through generous or barren soil.
There are some thin, dwarfed, almost scentless flowers of love and
friendship, of which we can discern the faint fragrance only when we are
on our knees. But some of us have conscientious scruples about kneeling
down except at shrines. Magdalen had not.

She knew that Fay cared but little for her in reality. But she also knew
that she did care a little. Fay had turned to her many times, and had
repulsed and forgotten her not a few times.

Magdalen had a good memory.

"When she really wants me she will turn to me again," she said
tranquilly to herself.

CHAPTER XIV

Toute passion a son chemin de croix.

And Michael?

What of him during these two endless years?

What did he think about during his first year in prison: what wa