ing, if I remember, and he had written that he was coming to take
her little son into the country, to give him a chance," I added
bitingly, "of some real country air."

"It was a cold night," continued Lin Darton, as though he had not heard
me, "and she has all she needs--while he--"

"To my mind, he had no business there!" I flared.

"He was her father."

He stared at me hard, as though he had uttered the final, indisputable
word.

"He forfeited all right to that title years ago."

"When?" demanded Mr. Darton.

"On the day of her birth," I snapped back at him.

"I do not understand you," he said coldly. And, when I remained silent,
he added: "There is no greater crime than that of a child towards a
father."

"Unless it be, perhaps, that of a father towards a child."

His sadness seemed to weigh him against the desk. I relented.

"To go against one's _own_--_against one's own_," he repeated, "and Con
so sick now--"

"You must forgive me, Mr. Darton, for my views," I said more gently,
"and tell me what I can do."

He pulled himself together at that.

"Con's all gone to pieces, you know--at the old mill house--no money--no
one to care for him. We wanted you to come out with us. Perhaps medical
care might, even now--We thought maybe," he interrupted himself hastily,
"that you could get Lisbeth to help out too--and maybe come herself--"

"Come herself!" I repeated, and my voice must have sounded the sick fear
that struck me.

"Money's not the only thing that counts when it comes to one's own
blood," he said sententiously.

There were no two ways about it, that was his final stand. So, having
assumed them of my services that afternoon, I went straight to Lisbeth.

I found her bending over the youngest baby, and, when I told her, her
body became rigid for an instant, then she stooped lower that I might
not see the shadow that had fallen across her face. Finally she left the
child and came to me with that old look of misery in her face that I had
not seen there for so long, but with far more gentleness.

"Sit down here, Tom," she said, leading me to the window seat, where the
strands of sunlight struck against her head, giving fire to her
dull-brown hair. She had changed but slightly in appearance, I thought,
from the girl that I had known five years before; still there _was_ a
change, a certain assurance was there, and a graciousness that came from
the knowledge that she was loved.

"I think you know