ness Rita for
her own good must bow beneath the rod; but in sickness or in death Rita
was her child, and no strange hand should minister to her. A blessed
philosopher's stone had for once transmuted her hard, barren sense of
justice to glowing love. She carried the girl into the house and applied
restoratives. After a little time Rita breathed a sigh and opened her
eyes. Her first word was "Dic!"

"Here I am, Rita," he softly answered, stepping to her bedside and
taking her hand. Mrs. Bays, after her first inquiry, had asked no
questions, and Dic had given no information. After Rita's return to
consciousness tears began to trickle down her mother's furrowed cheek,
and, ashamed of her weakness, she left the room. Dic knelt by Rita's bed
and kissed her hands, her eyes, her lips. His caresses were the best of
all restoratives, and when Mrs. Bays returned, Rita was sitting on the
edge of the bed, Dic's arm supporting her and her head resting on his
shoulder. Mrs. Bays came slowly toward them. The girl's habitual fear of
her mother returned, and lifting her head she tried to move away from
Dic, but he held her. Mrs. Bays reached the bedside and stood facing
them in silence. The court of love had adjourned. The court of justice
was again in session. She snatched up Rita's hand and pointed to the
ring.

"What is that?" she asked sternly.

"That is our engagement ring," answered Dic. "Rita has promised to be my
wife."

"Never!" cried the old woman, out of the spirit of pure antagonism.
"Never!" she repeated, closing her lips in a spasm of supposed duty.
Rita's heart sank, and Dic's seemed heavier by many pounds than a few
moments before, though he did not fear the apostle of justice and duty
as did Rita. He hoped to marry Rita at once with her mother's consent;
but if he could not have that, he would wait until the girl was
eighteen, when she could legally choose for herself. Out of his
confidence came calmness, and he asked,

"Why shall not Rita be my wife? She shall want for nothing, and I will
try to make her happy. Why do you object?"

"Because--because I do," returned Mrs. Bays.

"In so important a matter as this, Mrs. Bays, 'because' is not a
sufficient reason."

"I don't have to give you a reason," she answered sharply.

"You are a good woman, Mrs. Bays," continued Dic, with a deliberate and
base intent to flatter. "No man or woman has ever had injustice at your
hands, and I, who am almost your son, ask that