, and--there's no use waiting too long."

"I see."

Despite her dismay, Kate's lips twitched. It was so like this capable
child of hers to be arranging the future, at nineteen, ready to be a
mother to herself in case her natural mother failed her. But as she got
quickly into the dress laid out for her, her hands shook a little. It is
disconcerting to discover that one is no longer the parent of children,
but of women grown.

She had the weary, bruised feeling of one who has traveled too far--and
indeed it was a long journey she had made that day, from her own wistful
and eager young womanhood to that of her daughters. She brushed her
hands across her eyes to clear them of memories and dreams alike.

Introspection is always a difficult matter to direct and simple natures,
such as Kate Kildare's, but she forced herself to it now. Had she in any
way failed her children, as Jemima seemed to imply? Was it possible that
in her absorption in a fixed idea she had neglected them, taken their
welfare too much for granted? Was there anything she might have done for
them that she had not done?

Conscience answered, No. It was for their sakes, far more than her own,
that she had isolated herself with them, hidden them away from a world
which she had found unkind. It was for their interests that she had
worked harder than any man of her acquaintance, experimenting, studying,
managing, until she was recognized as one of the greatest agriculturists
of the State, and the unproductive property left by Basil Kildare had
become a stock and dairy farm which netted her an income that ran well
into five figures. More than wealth, she had given them education,
bringing to Storm the best tutors and governesses to be had in the
country. She had shared with them, too, her own practical knowledge and
experience, the wisdom not to be found in books.

Every step of the way she had walked beside them. She who could not give
them friends, had given them instead herself. Busy woman that she was,
she was far closer to them than mothers and daughters usually find
themselves, sentiment to the contrary notwithstanding. Between them, she
believed, were none of the unfortunate reticences usual in that
relation, no questions that might not be asked, nor answers given. Kate
would have said that she knew her daughters truly "by heart."

And yet already and without warning the time was upon her which she
dreaded--the time when she might no longer walk bes