In the earnestness of her spirit—­out of the deep devotion of her love—­as she prayed God for wisdom to guide the girl entrusted to her care, she spoke aloud.  “Let me not rob her, dear Christ, of love; but help me to help her love aright.  Help me, that in my fear for her I do not turn her heart against her mate when he shall come.  Help me, that I do not so fill her pure mind with doubt and distrust of all men that she will look for evil, only.  Help me, that I do not teach her to associate love wholly with that which is base and untrue.  Grant, O God, that her beautiful life may not be marred by a love that is unworthy.”

As the woman with the disfigured face rose from her knees, she heard the voice of Sibyl, who was coming up the old road toward the cedars—­singing as she came.

When Sibyl entered the house, a moment later, Myra Willard, still agitated, was bathing her face.  The girl, seeing, checked the song upon her lips; and going to the woman who in everything but the ties of blood was mother to her, sought to discover the reason for her troubled manner, and tried to soothe her with loving words.

The woman held the girl close in her arms and looked into the lovely, winsome face that was so unmarred by vicious thoughts of the world’s teaching.

“Dear child, do you not sometimes hate the sight of my ugliness?” she said.  “It seems to me, you must.”

With her arms about her companion’s neck, Sibyl pressed her pure, young lips to those disfiguring scars, in an impulsive kiss.  “Foolish Myra,” she cried, “you know I love you too well to see anything but your own beautiful self behind the scars.  To me, your face is all like this”—­and she softly kissed, in turn, the woman’s unmarred cheek.  “Whatever made the marks, I know that they are not dishonorable.  So I never think of them at all, but see only the beautiful side—­which is really you, you know.”

“No,”—­answered Myra Willard, gently,—­“my scars are not dishonorable.  But the world does not see with your pure eyes, dear child.  The world sees only the ugly, disfigured side of my face.  It never looks at the other side.  And listen, dear heart, so the world often sees dishonor where there is no dishonor It sees evil in many things where there is only good.”

“Yes,” returned the girl, “but you have never taught me to see with the eyes of the world.  So, to me, what the world sees, does not matter.”

“Pray that it may never matter, child,” answered the woman with the disfigured face, earnestly.

Then, as they went out to the porch, she asked, “Did you meet Mr. Oakley as you were coming home?”

Sibyl laughed and colored with a confusion that was new to her, as she answered, “Yes, I did—­and he scolded me.”

“About your going unarmed?”