“You have always been hard in your judgment of me,” she cried bitterly. “I am not a bad woman--I know, oh, I know I sinned! I married David so young; I found out my mistake, and when Fenwick came--I loved him, I ran away from my husband and my child, I was wicked--oh, I know it! But I suffered. I am not poor. He left me well off, almost rich. I have a right to it, he married me, I am his widow.” Dr. Cheyney said nothing; he moved away from her a little and again leant his elbow on the mantel. “Will you help me, will you go to Diana?” she pleaded, following him with sorrowful eyes. He shook his head. “Never!” She wrung her hands unconsciously. “You think I have no right to Diana?” “Have you?” he asked quietly. She hung her head, and the intensity of her suffering touched him without shaking his resolve. “Have you any right to spend a dollar of that money on her?” he added; “surely you know that she could not receive it?” There was a long silence. She turned, and hiding her face against the high back of the chair, sobbed convulsively. “You want to rob me of the last thing I have in the world!” she said at last. “You deserted her,” he replied more gently. She raised her face, wet with her passionate tears, and held out both hands to him. “Will you help me, will you tell her I am not dead? I am her mother; she has a right to know it.” Dr. Cheyney still regarded her. “He is very ill, Letty,” he said, “he may die; would you rob him of his daughter?” “No, oh, no!” she cried impetuously, “but I--I want her, too; I have wanted her for twenty years. Oh, Dr. Cheyney, there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth!” “Diana will not go with you,” he said quietly. “I know it, and if she would, I would not tell her.” “You refuse?” She leaned forward, still holding the chair with one hand and the other pressed against her heart. “Absolutely.” She shivered. “Cruel!” she whispered bitterly. He turned to his medicine cabinet and began to unlock the door. “Stay a moment,” he said kindly, “you need something, you will be ill.” But she fastened her wraps at her throat and let her veil fall over her face again. “I am not ill,” she said bitterly, “only heart-broken.” He urged her to taste the cordial in his hand, but she put it aside and went to the door. The old man followed her. “Letty,” he said, “David Royall is very ill; do not lay another sin against him on your conscience.” She had opened the door and, at his words, turned and laid her cheek against the lintel with a hard dry sob. “I will see Diana,” she said. The doctor made no reply; his quick ear had caught the sound of a step on the veranda, and almost at the same moment Caleb Trench appeared in the lighted space before the open door. “What is it, Caleb?” the doctor asked quickly. The young man glanced at the tall woman who still leaned against the door. “I’ve just got back from town,” he said, “and I wanted to ask you about Colonel Royall. I hear that he is ill.”