ked at it."

"And I assure you, Mrs. Hasketh, that is the way I looked at it, too,"
said my wife.

"So, when it seems hard that I should have taken his child from him,"
the woman continued, as if still arguing her case, and she probably was
arguing it with herself, "and did what I could to make her forget him, I
think it had better be considered whose sake I was doing it for, and
whether I had any right to do different. I did not think I had at the
time, or when I had to begin to act. I knew how I felt toward Mr.
Tedham; I never liked him; I never wanted my sister to marry him; and
when his trouble came, I told Mr. Hasketh that it was no more than I had
expected all along. He was that kind of a man, and he was sure to show
it, one way or other, sooner or later; and I was not disappointed when
he did what he did. I had to guard against my own feeling, and to put
myself out of the question, and that was what I tried to do when I got
him to give up the child to us and let her take our name. It was the
same as a legal adoption, and he freely consented to it, or as freely as
he could, considering where he was. But he knew it was for her good as
well as we did. There was nobody for her to look to but us, and he knew
that; his own family had no means, and, in fact, he _had_ no family but
his father and mother, and when they died, that same first year, there
was no one left to suffer from him but his child. The question was how
much she ought to be allowed to suffer, and whether she should be
allowed to suffer at all, if it could be helped. If it was to be
prevented, it was to be by deadening her to him, by killing out her
affection for him, and much as I hated Mr. Tedham, I could not bring
myself to do that, though I used to think I would do it. He was very
fond of her, I don't deny that; I don't think it was any merit in him to
love such a child, but it was the best thing about him, and I was
willing it should count. But then there was another thing that I
couldn't bring myself to, and that was to tell the child, up and down,
all about it; and I presume that there I was weak. Well, you may say I
_was_ weak! But I couldn't, I simply couldn't. She was only between
seven and eight when it happened--"

"I thought she was older," I ventured to put in, remembering my
impressions as to her age the last time I saw her with her father.

"No," said Mrs. Hasketh, "she always appeared rather old for her age,
and that made me all the