reen to come and kiss him.

Like a bird under the spell of a serpent, Noreen had stood affrighted
and silent. The command was repeated, laughingly, jeeringly, but under
it Mary-Clare had recognized that ring of brutality that occasionally
marked Larry's easy-going tones. Then Noreen had advanced step by
step, her eyes wide and alert.

"Kiss me!"

"No!"

The words had been explosive. Then Larry had caught the child roughly,
and Noreen had struck him!

Maddened and keen to the fact that he had been brought to bay, Larry
had struck back, and for days the mark of his hand had lain across the
delicate cheek. After that, when their wills clashed, Noreen, her eyes
full of fear and hate, would raise her hand to her cheek--weighing the
cost of rebellion. That gesture had become a driving force in
Mary-Clare's life. She must overcome that which lay like a hideous
menace between Larry and Noreen! She was accountable for it; out of
her loveless existence Noreen had birth--she was a living evidence of
the wrong done.

Looking back now, Mary-Clare realized that on the day when Larry
struck Noreen he had struck the scales from her eyes. From that hour
she had bunglingly, gropingly, felt her way along. The only fact that
upheld her now was that she knew she must take her first lonely step,
even if all her little unknowing, unthinking world dropped from her.

Again the squirrel darted across the floor and Mary-Clare looked after
it lingeringly. Even the little wild thing was company for her in her
hard hour. Then she looked up at the face of Father Damien. It was but
a face--the meaning of what had gone into its making Mary-Clare could
not understand--but it brought comfort and encouragement.

The reaction had set in. Worn-out nerves became non-resistant; they
ceased to ache. Then it was that Noreen's shrill voice broke the
calm:

"Motherly, Motherly, he's come: he's come home!"

Mary-Clare rose stiffly; her hands were spread wide as if to balance
her on that dangerous, adventurous trail that lay between her past and
the hidden future. There lay the trail: within her soul was a sense of
truth and she had strength and courage for the first step. That was
all.

"I'm coming, Noreen. I'm coming!" And Mary-Clare staggered on.

CHAPTER IV

Mary-Clare met Noreen at the brook, smiling and calm. The child was
trembling and pale, but the touch of her mother's hand reassured her.
It was like waking from a painful dream an