“So _that_ was what you meant, dear mother! How strange it all is! But _do_ not weep so! I _will_ love you all the same, dear, dear mother. Are seventeen years of tenderest motherhood to be blotted out by one hour’s revelation? Oh, no, no, no, my own dear mother, no! You and I have loved and worked and suffered too long and too closely together for that——” “And John, too!” sobbed Susan. “Oh, _poor_ John! You were his favorite child, Em. He _was_ so fond of you!” “Yes, and dear father, too! He _is_ so fond of me, mother. Ah! don’t weep so! Indeed, I love you—_more_ than ever!” “Oh, Em., I know it is so selfish and _so_ mean in me to cry so hard about anything that brings so much good to you, but I can’t help—help—help it!” sobbed Susan. “No, it is not selfish, dear mother. You haven’t a selfish vein in your body. It is natural. Didn’t you cry hard when you parted with your children who went to heaven, though you knew they were so much better off? And don’t everybody do so?” “Ye—yes, and this is almost the same, Em. Almost as hard for me!” “Only I wish you wouldn’t, dear mother, for I shall be _just_ the same to you as I was before, and come and help you to darn the stockings, or wash the dishes, _just_ as I did before. And if you don’t scold me just as much as you do the other children and—and father,” added Em., with a peculiar smile, “I shall think you don’t love me half as much as you do them.” “We always loved the child that has gone to heaven the best, Em., and you will be to me like that. You are a good girl, Em., it’s me that’s mean and selfish to cry about your good fortune, and begrudge you to that poor lady who has suffered so much in this world, and who hasn’t got no other child, but only you, while I have so many girls and boys; and another one a-coming, as sure as you live, Em.—another one a-coming. But don’t you say a word about that—it is awful! Now, there, child, go speak to your mamma. She is very patient to wait for you so long. I’ll go and comfort John by telling him what you say. Oh, _poor_ John!” And Susan Palmer arose and went out of the room to look for John, who had left the scene immediately at the end of the reading, to conceal all outward signs of his own inner trouble. Meanwhile, the very first movement of Em. to join her foster-mother having broken the spell of silence that had followed the reading of the confession, the other members of the family gathering had fallen to whispering, exclaiming, or questioning Dr. Willet. Em.’s first impulse to join them was checked by a feeling of diffidence, and she remained for some moments seated where Susan Palmer had left her, waiting the pleasure of her elders. At length she glanced toward her parents. They were sitting talking earnestly together in a low voice, seemingly quite absorbed in each other, though they had frequently looked across at their daughter without her consciousness of their regards.