d
to be my husband, and he was about to be tried for--" she hesitated
before the word, and could not utter it. "Then--it was months ago--he
took me to Mrs. Murray, who took care of me through all the misery and
wretchedness of those first weeks, and afterward got me work to do that
I might make my own living. There I have been, in my sad peace and
safety, ever since--a broken-hearted, wretched, nameless woman, and as
such your son loved me. I returned his love with all the fire and
strength of an utterly unexpended force. I had never loved before. I
never felt the power of that love so mighty as now, in this moment that
I give him up."

"You shall not give him up! I know it all now, and, in spite of
everything, I tell you you shall not. Christine, listen, I give my
consent. I declare to you that you honor him supremely when you agree
to marry him. My child, if you had had a mother all this would not
have come to you. I rejoice to take you for my daughter. Look at me,
Christine, and try to feel that you have a mother at last."

It was almost too much for the strained nerves of the girl. She could
have borne denial calmly, seeing that she was ready for it, but the
great rush of joy that surged into her heart at these unexpected words
confused and agitated her. A strong voice spoke to her words of comfort
and cheer, and loving arms embraced her. Sweet mother-kisses were
pressed upon her cheeks and eyes, and she was gently reassured and
calmed and strengthened. Her mind was still a little dazed, however, and
she did not quite know how it was that she found herself now standing
alone, near the middle of the room.

The door opened. Some one entered and closed it softly. She felt that
it was Noel. He paused an instant near the threshold, and she turned
her head and looked at him. He held out his arms. They moved toward
each other, and she was folded in a close embrace. They remained so,
absolutely still. Her heart was beating in full, thick throbs against
his, which kept time to it. Her closed eyes were against his throat, and
she would not move so much as an eyelash. She gave herself up utterly to
this ecstasy of content.

"Don't move," she whispered. She was afraid this perfect moment would be
spoiled; a kiss, even, would have done it. But he seemed to understand,
and except to tighten slightly the pressure of his arms he kept
profoundly still. She could hear his low, uneven breathing and the
faint, regular ticking of h