To the orphaned, forsaken, disgraced captive, sitting amid the sombre ruins of her life, drinking the bitter lees of the fatal cup a mother’s hand had forced to her reluctant lips, there seemed nothing strange in the injustice meted out; for had not the second place in maternal love always been hers?  As the great gray eyes darkening behind their tears, like deep lakes under coming rain, read and re-read the blurred lines, the frozen mouth trembled, and Beryl kissed the hair, folded it away in the letter, and pinned both close to her heart.  Staggering to her feet, she held up the ring, and said in a broken, half audible voice: 

“When I am dead, your darling shall have it; until then lend it to your little girl, as a strengthening amulet.  The sight of it will hold me firm, will girdle my soul with fortitude, as it girdles my finger; will set a yet holier seal to the compact whereby I pledged my life, that you might die in peace.  If, in the last hour, you had known all my peril, all that my promise entails, would you have released me?  Would you have died content knowing that your idol was guarded and safe, behind the cold shield of your little girl’s polluted body?  The blood in my veins flowed from yours; I slept on your heart, I was the last baby whose lips fed at your bosom.  Mother!  Mother, if you had known all, could you have seen the load of guilt and shame and woe laid on your innocent child, and bought the life of your first-born, by the sacrifice of a scapegoat?  Dear mother, my mother, would you shelter him, and leave your baby to die?”

Slipping the ring on her finger, she kissed it twice.  The hot flood of tears overflowed, and she fell on her knees beside the cot, clasping her hands above her bowed head.

“Alone in my desolation!  Oh, father! keep close to my soul, and pray that I may have strength to bear my burden, even to the end.  My God!  My God! sustain me now.  Help me to be patient, and when the sacrifice is finished, accept it for Christ’s sake, and grant that the soul of my brother may be ransomed, because I die for his sins.”

CHAPTER XIV.

“Well, dear child, what is the trouble?  Into what quagmire have your little feet slipped?  When you invite me so solemnly to a private conference in this distractingly pretty room, the inference is inevitable that some disaster threatens.  Have you overdrawn your bank account?”

Judge Dent leaned back, making himself thoroughly comfortable in a deep easy chair in Leo’s luxurious library; and taking his niece’s hand, looked up into her grave, sweet face.

“I want you to honor my draft for a large amount.  I am about to draw upon your sympathy; can I ever overdraw my account with that royal bank?”

“Upon my sympathy, never; but mark you, this does not commit me to compliance with all your Utopian schemes.  If you were raving mad, I should sympathize, but nevertheless I should see that the strait-jacket was brought into requisition.  When your generosity train dashes recklessly beyond regulation schedules of safety, I must discharge engineer sympathy, and whistle down the brakes.  What new hobby do you intend that I shall ride?”