oad. Those who had met
her, represented her as being greatly changed; all the softness of
character that had been assumed in her intercourse with the world had
been laid aside; she was silent, cold, and stern to all who met her.

Deeply did this intelligence afflict Charles, and he yearned to draw
near to his mother; but he feared to do so, lest, in her haughty pride,
she should throw him off again, and thus render a reconciliation still
more difficult, if not impossible.

While in this state of doubt, affairs assumed a new feature. Charles
received a letter from a friend, stating that the banking institution,
in the stocks of which his mother's entire property was invested, had
failed, and that she was penniless.

"O Charles, go to her at once!" was the exclamation of Ellen, the
moment her husband read to her the intelligence. "It is time now; all
else has failed her."

"I do not know," he said, doubtingly. "This circumstance will make
William sensible of his duty; he will, no doubt, restore her a part of
the property received from her hands. This is the least he can do."

Florence differed with her brother. She did not believe that either
William or his wife would regard their mother in any way; both were too
selfish and too unforgiving. Much was said all around, but no clear
course of action was perceived.

"I'll tell you what you can do," spoke up Mrs. Linden, her eyes
sparkling. A thought had flashed over her mind.

"What is it, Ellen?" asked her husband.

"You can send her, under a blank envelope, a thousand dollars or more,
and thus keep her above the bitter feeling of dependence. More can be
sent when more is required."

"True! true!" was the husband's quick reply. "And I will do it."

When the news of the failure of the bank in which the little remnant of
her property was contained reached the ears of Mrs. Linden, her spirits
sank. Pride had kept her up before; but now her haughty
self-dependence, her indignation, her bitterness of feeling toward her
children, gave way, and, in conscious weakness, she bowed her head and
prayed for oblivion. She felt deserted by all; but indignation at this
desertion was not the feeling that ruled in her heart; she felt weak,
lonely, and powerless. From a high position, which she had held with
imperious pride, she had fallen almost suddenly into obscurity,
desertion, and dependence. A week passed, and she began to think of her
children; none of them had yet come near