ing for such memories as those. They are weeds which
will grow rank and strong though nothing be done to foster them.
There is the earth and the rain, and that is enough for them. You
cannot kill them if you would, and they certainly will not die
because you are careful not to hoe and rake the ground."

"Lily, you forget how short the time has been as yet."

"I have thought it very long; but the truth is, mamma, that this
non-fostering of memories, as you call it, has not been the real
cause of our silence. We have not spoken of Mr. Crosbie because we
have not thought alike about him. Had you spoken you would have
spoken with anger, and I could not endure to hear him abused. That
has been it."

"Partly so, Lily."

"Now we must talk of him, and you must not abuse him. We must talk of
him, because something must be done about his letter. Even it be left
unanswered, it cannot be so left without discussion. And yet you must
say no evil of him."

"Am I to think that he behaved well?"

"No, mamma; you are not to think that; but you are to look upon his
fault as a fault that has been forgiven."

"It cannot be forgiven, dear."

"But, mamma, when you go to heaven--"

"My dear!"

"But you will go to heaven, mamma, and why should I not speak of it?
You will go to heaven, and yet I suppose you have been very wicked,
because we are all very wicked. But you won't be told of your
wickedness there. You won't be hated there, because you were this or
that when you were here."

"I hope not, Lily; but isn't your argument almost profane?"

"No; I don't think so. We ask to be forgiven just as we forgive. That
is the way in which we hope to be forgiven, and therefore it is the
way in which we ought to forgive. When you say that prayer at night,
mamma, do you ever ask yourself whether you have forgiven him?"

"I forgive him as far as humanity can forgive. I would do him no
injury."

"But if you and I are forgiven only after that fashion we shall never
get to heaven." Lily paused for some further answer from her mother,
but as Mrs. Dale was silent she allowed that portion of the subject to
pass as completed. "And now, mamma, what answer do you think we ought
to send to his letter?"

"My dear, how am I to say? You know I have said already that if I
could act on my own judgment, I would send none."

"But that was said in the bitterness of gall."

"Come, Lily, say what you think yourself. We shall get on better when
you hav