vocations. Think of a
woman being tied to a feckless ne'er-do-well like Matthew O'Brien!'

'Don't talk to me, John; I will not listen to you. Was she not his
wedded wife, and the mother of his children? Had she not vowed to be
faithful to him for better and for worse?'

'Yes, my dear; but you must allow it was for worse.'

'That may be; but she was bound to him all the same by her wifely duty.
She might have saved him, but instead of that she has been his ruin. How
dare any woman rob her husband of his own children, and forbid him to
lay claim to them? She is a false, perjured wife!' exclaimed Mrs. Ross,
with rising excitement.

'My dear, I am not defending her; but at least she is to be pitied now.'

'I do not think so. It is Cyril and Kester and Mollie who are to be
pitied, for having such parents. My heart bleeds for them, but not for
her. What will become of them all? How will that poor boy bear his
life?'

'I do not know. But, Emmie, tell me one thing--you agree with me that
Audrey must not marry him?'

'Of course she must not marry him! What would Geraldine and Percival
say?'

Then the Doctor muttered 'Pshaw!'

'Why, his name is not Blake at all. How could a daughter of ours form a
connection with the O'Briens? My poor Audrey! And now, John, you must
let me go to her.' And this time Dr. Ross made no objection.

It was nearly midnight by this time, but Audrey had not thought of
retiring to bed; she was sitting by her toilet-table, with her hands
folded in her lap. Her mother's appearance seemed to surprise her.

'Dear mother, why have you come? There was no need--no need at all.'

Then, as her mother put her arms round her, she laid her head on her
shoulder as though she were conscious of sudden weariness. Mrs. Ross's
eyes were red with weeping, but Audrey's were still quite bright and
dry.

'Mother dear, you will be so tired!'

'What does that matter? It is your father who is tired; he feels all
this so terribly. My own darling, what am I to say to you in this awful
trouble that has come upon you, but to beg you to be brave for all our
sakes?'

'Yes; and for his, too.'

'If I could only bear it for you--that is what a mother feels when her
child suffers--if I could only take it from you, and carry it as my own
burden!'

Then the girl gently pressed her with her arms.

'That is what I feel about him,' she returned, and there was a pained
look in her eyes as she spoke. 'He is so young, and al