“Mother!” she gasped, “mother!”

The horror of the malady that had seized on the beautiful, dainty, lovely woman, so like a princess in her bearing, so notable in her housewifery, so neighborly, so maternal, swept over her in a hot tide, retreated, leaving her shivering.

“I must go home,” she said, “and at once!” With feet that seemed to her weighted with lead she went straight to the room of the Dean, knowing that in that gracious woman’s spirit there would be instant comprehension, and that she would receive wise advice.

“My dear!” said the Dean, “you have heard from Hilox, haven’t you?  We are so proud of you; we want you to represent our college and our culture there.  It is a magnificent opportunity, Margaret.”

The Dean was very short-sighted, and she did not catch at first the look on Margaret’s face.

“Yes,” she answered, in a voice that sounded muffled and lifeless, “I have heard from Hilox; I had almost forgotten, but I must answer the letter.  Dear Mrs. Wade, I have heard from home, too.  My mother is very ill, and she needs me.  I must go at once—­to-morrow morning.  I cannot wait for Commencement.”

The Dean asked for further information.  Then she urged that Margaret should wait over the annual great occasion; so much was due the college, she thought, and she pointed out the fact that Mr. Lee had not asked her to leave until the exercises were over.

But Margaret had only one reply:  “My mother needs me; I must go!”

A week later, at sunset, the old lumbering stage, rolling over the steep hills and the smooth dales drew up at Margaret’s home.  Tired, but with a steadfast light in her eyes, the girl stepped down, received her father’s kiss, and went straight to her mother, waiting in the doorway.

“I am glad—­glad you have come, my darling!” said the mother.  “While you are here I can give everything up.  But, my love, this is not what we planned!”

“No, my dearest,” said the girl, “but that is of no consequence.  I wish I had known sooner how much, how very much, I was wanted at home!”

“But you will not be a Professor of Greek!” said the mother that night.  It was all arranged for the operation, which was to take place in a week’s time, the surgeons to come from the nearest town.  The mother was brave, gay, heroic.  Margaret looked at her, wondering that one under the shadow of death could laugh and talk so brightly.

“No.  I will be something better,” she said, tenderly.  “I will be your nurse, your comfort if I can.  If I had only known, there are many things better than Greek that I might have learned!”

Hilox did not get its Greek professor, but the culture of Mount Seward was not wasted.  Mrs. Lee lived years, often in anguish unspeakable, relieved by intervals of peace and freedom from pain.  The daughter became almost the mother in their intercourse as time passed, and the bloom on her cheek paled sooner than on her mother’s in the depth of her sympathy.  But the end came at last, and the suffering life went out with a soft sigh, as a child falls asleep.