tle preparation--and
ride up the hill which I have had to climb so painfully. It would be a
great pleasure to me to see her at the top. But of course it is
impossible--a mere idle dream. YOUR claim comes first; her duty chains
her here."

"It would be so lonely without her," murmured the mother weakly, "an' I
love her so--my las' one!"

"No doubt--no doubt," returned Warwick, with a sympathetic sigh; "of
course you love her. It's not to be thought of for a moment. It's a
pity that she couldn't have a chance here--but how could she! I had
thought she might marry a gentleman, but I dare say she'll do as well
as the rest of her friends--as well as Mary B., for instance, who
married--Homer Pettifoot, did you say? Or maybe Billy Oxendine might
do for her. As long as she has never known any better, she'll probably
be as well satisfied as though she married a rich man, and lived in a
fine house, and kept a carriage and servants, and moved with the best
in the land."

The tortured mother could endure no more. The one thing she desired
above all others was her daughter's happiness. Her own life had not
been governed by the highest standards, but about her love for her
beautiful daughter there was no taint of selfishness. The life her son
had described had been to her always the ideal but unattainable life.
Circumstances, some beyond her control, and others for which she was
herself in a measure responsible, had put it forever and inconceivably
beyond her reach. It had been conquered by her son. It beckoned to
her daughter. The comparison of this free and noble life with the
sordid existence of those around her broke down the last barrier of
opposition.

"O Lord!" she moaned, "what shall I do with out her? It'll be lonely,
John--so lonely!"

"You'll have your home, mother," said Warwick tenderly, accepting the
implied surrender. "You'll have your friends and relatives, and the
knowledge that your children are happy. I'll let you hear from us
often, and no doubt you can see Rena now and then. But you must let
her go, mother,--it would be a sin against her to refuse."

"She may go," replied the mother brokenly. "I'll not stand in her
way--I've got sins enough to answer for already."

Warwick watched her pityingly. He had stirred her feelings to unwonted
depths, and his sympathy went out to her. If she had sinned, she had
been more sinned against than sinning, and it was not his part to judge
her. He had yie