d had
and hoped--everything is gone with him. The future was to be spent in
trying to do good things. We shared the same ideas about it. But that's
all over. I'm left--single-handed, Sabina."

"Yes, I know how you feel."

"I can't bear to think of it yet. I didn't come to talk about him, or
myself. I came to talk about Abel."

"I can't tell you anything about him."

"I know you know nothing. I think I know more than you do."

"Know more of him than I do?" asked the mother. There was almost a flash
of jealousy in her voice. But it faded and she sighed.

"No, no. You needn't fret for him. They may find him, or they may not;
but they'll not find him alive."

Estelle started. She believed most steadfastly that Abel was alive, and
felt very certain that she knew his hiding-place.

"Why do you think that?" she asked. "You might hope it; but why do you
think it? Have you any good reason for thinking it?"

"There are some things you know," answered the mother. "You know them
without being told and without any reason. You neither hope nor
fear--you know. I might ask you how you know where he is. But I don't
want to ask you. I've taken my good-bye of him, poor, wasted life. How
had God got the heart to let him live for this? People will say it was
fitting, and happened by the plan of his Maker. No man's child--not even
God's. It's all hidden, all dark to me. It's worked itself out to the
bitter end. Men would have been too kind to work it out like this. Only
God could. I can't say much to you. I'm very sorry for you. You were
caught up into the thing and didn't know, or guess, what you were
thrusting yourself into. But now it's your turn, and you'll have to wait
long years, as I did, before you can look at life again without passion
or sorrow."

"It doesn't matter about me. But, if you feel Abel is dead, I feel just
as strongly that he is alive, and that this isn't the end of him."

Sabina considered.

"I know him better than you, and I know Providence better than you do,"
she answered. "It's like the wonder you are--to think on him without
hate. But you're wasting your time and showing pity for nothing. He's
beyond pity. Why, I don't pity him--his mother."

"I'm only doing what Raymond tried to do so often and failed--what he
would have me do now if he'd lived. And if I know something that nobody
else does, I must use that knowledge. I'm sorry I do know, Sabina, but I
do."

"You waste your time, I expect. If th