finally she set the strange meal before the
old woman.

Becky eyed the repast as one might who fancied that she dreamed.
Cautiously she touched the food with her lean fingers, then she clutched
it and ate ravenously, desperately fearing that it might disappear.

Mary looked on in divine pity, swaying to and fro, never speaking nor
going near.

She was thinking; thinking on ahead. She would make the cabin clean and
whole; she would wash and clothe the poor creature now eating like a
hungry wolf; she would feed her. Becky should become--hers!

Then Mary's mouth relaxed. She was appropriating, adjusting. Something
of her very own at last! Something that would wait for her, watch for
her, depend upon her. Something to work for and live for; something upon
whom she might pour forth the hidden riches that had all but perished in
her soul.

It was midnight when Mary groped her way from the cabin. Becky was
asleep on the miserable bed in the corner; she was breathing softly and
evenly like a baby.

Outside, the moonlight lay full upon the open spaces and on the little
grave under the pine clump. Mary stood, before entering the woods, and
raised her head.

"I'm paying--I'm paying back what--I owe," she murmured, and all the
wretched company of her early childhood seemed to hold out imploring
hands to her. Her father, her mother, the line of miserable brothers and
sisters who never had their chance!

Sister Angela came, too, her cross gleaming, her eyes kind and just.
Doris Fletcher and her blessed giving; giving of the marvellous chance
at last! And lastly, Nancy, with her beautiful face, Nancy who must not
be cheated, Nancy who--trusted her! Nancy who _might_ be--but no! Mary
ran on. She would not know! She must not!

And so it was that the last of the Allans redeemed the debt and silently
found peace for her proud heart.

She was released! She had proven herself, though no one must ever know.
It was the not knowing that would mark her highest success.

On the morrow Mary went to Ridge House quite her usual reserved self.

Nancy met her with the brightest of smiles.

"Doctor Martin has gone away, Mary," she explained, "and now I will be
terribly busy, but next winter--oh! next winter, Mary, Joan will be with
us in the dear old house. A letter came to-day--she is going to take
lessons from a very great teacher. Do you remember how Joan could sing,
Mary? I shall play for her again and be so happy. It's wonderful h