rever defies all law
and all philosophy save her own.

Now, product of their twenty years of friendship, here he stood, tall
and strong--Don Lane, their boy, blood on his hand because of that truth
which he swiftly--too swiftly--had declared to be a lie; and which was
no lie but the very truth.

But Don Lane still was ignorant of the closeness of truth of his last
remark. He only put such face now on all this as he might.

"Miss Julia," said he lamely, and giving her instinctively the title
which the town gave her, "I know you have been good to my mother."

"Why, no, I haven't, Don," said she, "not at all. I've been so busy I
have hardly seen your mother for a month or so. But we have kept track
of you--why, Don, I've got your class records, every one. You don't know
how I got them? Isn't it true, Aurie?"

"I don't know what I would ever have done without her," said Aurora Lane
slowly.

Don Lane laughed suddenly. "Why," said he, "it's almost as if I had
_two_ mothers, isn't it?"

Both women grew red now, and poor Don, knowing little as he did, grew
red as well.

"But what's the matter with your hand, Don--you've cut yourself! I've
told your mother she ought to fix that gate-latch."

Don looked once more at his wounded hand, and sought to cover the
blood-stain with his kerchief. He saw that Miss Julia had heard nothing
of the affair of a few moments earlier in the public square.

"Why, that's nothing," he mumbled.

This was too much for the straightforward nature of Aurora Lane, and
rapidly as she might she gave some account to Miss Julia of these late
events. She told all--except the basic and essential truth. A sad shame
held her back from talking even before Miss Julia of the fact that her
boy now knew he was the child of shame itself.

"That's too bad," said Julia Delafield slowly, gravely, as she heard the
half news. "I'm awfully sorry--I'm awfully sorry for your mother, Don.
You fought? My! I wish I had been there to see it."

Miss Julia's face flushed once more, indicative of the heroic soul which
lay in her own misshapen body.

"I didn't want to hit that fellow," said Don. "Of course, they had no
chance, either of them, with a man who could box a bit."

"And you learned that--in college, Don?"

He only grinned in reply, and thrust the wounded hand into his pocket,
out of sight.

"I'll warrant you, Don," said Miss Julia, "that if it hadn't been for
you old Tarbush, the town marshal, never wou