“Heaven grant that it may come soon!” was the fervent response.

Many months passed away, and yet the mother and son remained as before—­unreconciled.  He had kept himself accurately informed in regard to her—­that is, accurately informed as it was possible for him to be.  During that time, she had never been seen abroad.  Those who had met her, represented her as being greatly changed; all the softness of character that had been assumed in her intercourse with the world had been laid aside; she was silent, cold, and stern to all who met her.

Deeply did this intelligence afflict Charles, and he yearned to draw near to his mother; but he feared to do so, lest, in her haughty pride, she should throw him off again, and thus render a reconciliation still more difficult, if not impossible.

While in this state of doubt, affairs assumed a new feature.  Charles received a letter from a friend, stating that the banking institution, in the stocks of which his mother’s entire property was invested, had failed, and that she was penniless.

“O Charles, go to her at once!” was the exclamation of Ellen, the moment her husband read to her the intelligence.  “It is time now; all else has failed her.”

“I do not know,” he said, doubtingly.  “This circumstance will make William sensible of his duty; he will, no doubt, restore her a part of the property received from her hands.  This is the least he can do.”

Florence differed with her brother.  She did not believe that either William or his wife would regard their mother in any way; both were too selfish and too unforgiving.  Much was said all around, but no clear course of action was perceived.

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” spoke up Mrs. Linden, her eyes sparkling.  A thought had flashed over her mind.

“What is it, Ellen?” asked her husband.

“You can send her, under a blank envelope, a thousand dollars or more, and thus keep her above the bitter feeling of dependence.  More can be sent when more is required.”

“True! true!” was the husband’s quick reply.  “And I will do it.”

When the news of the failure of the bank in which the little remnant of her property was contained reached the ears of Mrs. Linden, her spirits sank.  Pride had kept her up before; but now her haughty self-dependence, her indignation, her bitterness of feeling toward her children, gave way, and, in conscious weakness, she bowed her head and prayed for oblivion.  She felt deserted by all; but indignation at this desertion was not the feeling that ruled in her heart; she felt weak, lonely, and powerless.  From a high position, which she had held with imperious pride, she had fallen almost suddenly into obscurity, desertion, and dependence.  A week passed, and she began to think of her children; none of them had yet come near her, or inquired for her.  The thoughts of William and his heartless wife caused old feelings of indignation to awaken and