n past, nor hers. He did not
dream how life had been made smooth for him, nor at what fearful cost.
Shielded about always by a mother's love, he had not known he had a
mother.

This was as his mother had wished. As for him, in some way he received
the requisite funds. He wondered only that he knew so little of his own
people, half orphan though he was. He had been told that his father,
long since dead, had left a certain sum for the purpose of his
education, although further of his own history he knew nothing. That he
was not of honorable birth he never once had dreamed. And now he had
heard this charge for the first time--heard it made publicly, openly,
before all the world, on this which was to have been the happiest day in
all his life.

But if Don Lane knew little about himself, there lacked not knowledge of
his story, actual or potential, here in Spring Valley, once his presence
called up the past to Spring Valley's languid mind. There had not yet
been excitement enough for one day. Everyone, male and female, surging
here and there in swift gossiping, now called up the bitter story so
long hid in Aurora Lane's bosom.

As for Aurora, she had before this well won her fight of all these
years. She was known as the town milliner, a woman honorable in her
business transactions and prompt with all her bills. Socially she had no
place. She was not invited to any home, any table. The best people of
the town, the banker's wife, the families of the leading merchants,
bought bonnets of her. Ministers--while yet new in their pulpits--had
been known to call upon her sometimes--one had even offered to kneel and
pray with her in her workroom, promising her salvation even yet, and
telling her the story of the thief upon the cross. Once Aurora Lane went
to church and sat far back, unseen, but she did so no longer now, had
not for many years, feeling that she dared not appear in the
church--the church which had not ratified her nuptial night!

She had her place, definite and yet indefinite, accepted and yet
rejected, here in this village. But gradually, dumbly, doggedly she had
fought on; and she had won. Long since, Spring Valley had ceased openly
to call up her story. If once she had been wearer of the scarlet letter,
the color thereof had faded these years back. She was the town milliner,
a young woman under suspicion always, but no man could bring true word
against her character. She had sinned--once--no more. If she had kno