sit quiet under this
last hallucination. What! This unreal woman, this phantom that
Amherst's uneasy imagination had evoked, was to come between himself and
her, to supplant her first as his wife, and then as his fellow-worker?
Why should she not cry out the truth to him, defend herself against the
dead who came back to rob her of such wedded peace as was hers? She had
only to tell the true story of the plans to lay poor Bessy's ghost
forever!

The confused throbbing impulses within her were stifled under a long
burst of applause--then she saw Westy Gaines at her side again, and
understood that he had come to lead Cicely to the platform. For a moment
she clung jealously to the child's hand, hardly aware of what she did,
feeling only that she was being thrust farther and farther into the
background of the life she had helped to call out of chaos. Then a
contrary impulse moved her. She gently freed Cicely's hand, and a moment
later, as she sat with bent head and throbbing breast, she heard the
child's treble piping out above her:

"In my mother's name, I give this house to Westmore."

Applause again--and then Justine found herself enveloped in a general
murmur of compliment and congratulation. Mr. Amherst had spoken
admirably--a "beautiful tribute--" ah, he had done poor Bessy justice!
And to think that till now Hanaford had never fully known how she had
the welfare of the mills at heart--how it was really only _her_ work
that he was carrying on there! Well, he had made that perfectly
clear--and no doubt Cicely was being taught to follow in her mother's
footsteps: everyone had noticed how her step-father was associating her
with the work at the mills. And his little speech would, as it were,
consecrate the child's relation to that work, make it appear to her as
the continuance of a beautiful, a sacred tradition....

* * * * *

And now it was over. The building had been inspected, the operatives had
dispersed, the Hanaford company had rolled off down the avenue, Cicely,
among them, driving away tired and happy in Mrs. Dressel's victoria, and
Amherst and his wife were alone.

Amherst, after bidding good-bye to his last guests, had gone back to the
empty concert-room to fetch the blue-print lying on the platform. He
came back with it, between the uneven rows of empty chairs, and joined
Justine, who stood waiting in the hall. His face was slightly flushed,
and his eyes had the light which