"But," the girl went on, turning to Margaret again, "it was not that alone. I think I could have got so after a while that I would have dared to die even that shameful death--I was so worn out with it all--the struggle and the remorse. But for my child's sake I could not tell. I felt that you would cast him off if you knew all. How could you bear him in your home when--when--and if you turned against him who would take him up? Oh, madam ... I tried to tell. But when I thought of him I could not. To keep this horrible secret that was eating my life away seemed the only thing left that I could do for him." "Rosalie, why have you told it now?" "Because--oh, madam, I cannot die with a lie upon my lips--a lie that keeps _your_ child from your arms." "My child--from my arms?" repeated Margaret, groping for her meaning. "Why,--" "Rosalie, you have talked enough now," said Mrs. Pennybacker, kindly. "You are worn out." "One moment," Margaret interrupted. Then dropping to her knees beside the sick girl she took her hand, saying solemnly, "Be at peace! I promise by the love I bear my own child that I will be a mother to yours. From this day he shall bear his father's name." "Oh, madam!" Mr. De Jarnette broke the silence that fell on them then. "There is no need that this should ever be known outside of ourselves. To the world Victor De Jarnette died by accident. So let it rest." When Rosalie spoke again it was only to murmur as if to herself, "I did not know--the world had people in it--like this!" To Mrs. Pennybacker, who bent over her with a reviving draught, she said as simply as a child would say it, "Do you think God will forgive me now?" "'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him,'" was the instant answer. "'He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.'" To Margaret it was an assurance of infinite compassion. But the sick girl started up, crying, "Oh, not as a father! Not that! My father shut his door upon me. My child's father cast him off. If it could only have been 'as a mother'--" "Rosalie, it is! For, as if that was not enough, the dear Lord says: 'As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.'" "Does it say that?... Is it true?... 'As one--whom--his mother comforteth!' Oh, my mother would have comforted me! She would have taken me--sinful though I was--to her arms! She would have--" She closed her eyes and lay still. Then they saw her lips move. "'As one--whom--his _mother_--comforteth.'" Mrs. Pennybacker motioned them silently to go. They reached the lower hall before either spoke. Then Margaret said, not raising her eyes to his, "Richard, if God can so forgive, may not we?" He was silent so long that she looked up at him in wonder. His face was gray.