d deep as she had sinned, and, lepers though they have
been, they have afterwards been clean. But that task of cleansing
oneself is not an easy one;--the waters of that Jordan in which it is
needful to wash are scalding hot. The cool neighbouring streams of
life's pleasant valleys will by no means suffice.

Since she had been home at Orley Farm she had been very scrupulous
as to going down into the parlour both at breakfast and at dinner,
so that she might take her meals with her son. She had not as yet
omitted this on one occasion, although sometimes the task of sitting
through the dinner was very severe upon her. On the present occasion,
the last day that remained to her before the trial--perhaps the last
evening on which she would ever watch the sun set from those windows,
she thought that she would spare herself. "Tell Mr. Lucius," she said
to the servant who came to summon her, "that I would be obliged to
him if he would sit down without me. Tell him that I am not ill, but
that I would rather not go down to dinner!" But before the girl was
on the stairs she had changed her mind. Why should she now ask for
this mercy? What did it matter? So she gathered herself up from the
chair, and going forth from the room, stopped the message before it
was delivered. She would bear on to the end.

She sat through the dinner, and answered the ordinary questions
which Lucius put to her with her ordinary voice, and then, as was
her custom, she kissed his brow as she left the room. It must be
remembered that they were still mother and son, and that there had
been no quarrel between them. And now, as she went up stairs, he
followed her into the drawing-room. His custom had been to remain
below, and though he had usually seen her again during the evening,
there had seldom or never been any social intercourse between them.
On the present occasion, however, he followed her, and closing the
door for her as he entered the room, he sat himself down on the sofa,
close to her chair.

"Mother," he said, putting out his hand and touching her arm, "things
between us are not as they should be."

She shuddered, not at the touch, but at the words. Things were not as
they should be between them. "No," she said. "But I am sure of this,
Lucius, that you never had an unkind thought in your heart towards
me."

"Never, mother. How could I,--to my own mother, who has ever been so
good to me? But for the last three months we have been to each other