zed; 'she never had a good disposition
at the best, but she's frantic with the pain now, and good reason, too.
It's about over and I'll be thankful when it is. You'd better swallow
the shame and take the child; I can't and won't have him and it'll be
easy enough for you to say he belongs to some of your own folks.'

"By this time I was mentally bewildered. When the iron first entered my
soul, when I first heard the truth about your father, at that moment my
mind gave way--I know it now."

"Poor, poor mother! My poor, gentle little mother!" murmured Ivory
brokenly, as he asked her hand.

"Don't cry, my son; it is all past; the sorrow and the bitterness and
the struggle. I will just finish the story and then we'll close the book
forever. The woman gave me some bread and tea, and I flung myself on the
bed without undressing. I don't know how long afterward it was, but the
door opened and a little boy stole in; a sad, strange, dark-eyed little
boy who said: 'Can I sleep up here? Mother's screaming and I'm afraid.'
He climbed to the couch. I covered him with a blanket, and I soon heard
his deep breathing. But later in the night, when I must have fallen
asleep myself, I suddenly awoke and felt him lying beside me. He had
dragged the blanket along and crept up on the bed to get close to my
side for the warmth I could give, or the comfort of my nearness. The
touch of him almost broke my heart; I could not push the little creature
away when he was lying there so near and warm and confiding--he, all
unconscious of the agony his mere existence was to me. I must have slept
again and when the day broke I was alone. I thought the presence of the
child in the night was a dream and I could not remember where I was, nor
why I was there."

"Mother, dear mother, don't tell me any more to-night. I fear for your
strength," urged Ivory, his eyes full of tears at the remembrance of her
sufferings.

"There is only a little more and the weight will be off my heart and on
yours, my poor son. Would that I need not tell you! The house was still
and I thought at first that no one was awake, but when I opened the
sitting-room door the child ran towards me and took my hand as the woman
came in from the sick-room. 'Go into the kitchen, Rodman,' she said,
'and lace up your boots; you're going right out with this lady. Hetty
died in the night,' she continued impassively. 'The doctor was here
about ten o'clock and I've never seen her so bad. He gave