"His children _must_ love me," she said, "and all that woman can and ought to do shall be done by me before I relinquish my labors of love." Mittie enjoyed the gift without being grateful to the giver; she basked in the sunshine of comfort, without acknowledging the source from which it emanated. For one year she had been treated with unvarying tenderness, consideration, and regard, in spite of coldness, haughtiness, and occasional insolence, till she began to despise one who could lavish so much on a thankless, unreturning receiver. She was surprised when her step-mother entered her room at the unusual hour of bed time--and looking up from the book she was reading, her countenance expressed impatience and curiosity. She did not rise or offer her a chair, but after one rude, fixed stare, resumed her reading. Mrs. Gleason seated herself with perfect composure, and taking up a book herself, seemed to be absorbed in its contents. There was something so unusual in her manner that Mittie, in spite of her determination to appear imperturbable and careless, could not help gazing upon her with increasing astonishment. She was dressed in a loose night wrapper, her hair was unbraided, and hanging loose over her shoulders, and there was an air of ease and freedom diffused over her person, that added much to its attractions. Mittie had always thought her stiff and formal--now there was a graceful abandonment about her, as if she had thrown off chains which had galled her, or a burden which oppressed. "To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit, madam?" asked Mittie, throwing her book on the table with unlady-like force. "To a desire for a little private conversation," replied Mrs. Gleason, looking steadfastly in Mittie's face. "I am going to bed," said she, with an unsuppressed yawn, "you had better take a more fitting hour." "I shall not detain you long," replied her step-mother, "a few words can comprehend all I have to utter. This night is the anniversary of the one which brought us under the same roof. I then made a vow to myself that for one year I would labor with a bigot's zeal and a martyr's enthusiasm, to earn the love and entitle myself to the good opinion of my husband's daughter. I made a vow of self-abnegation, which no Hindoo devotee ever more religiously kept. I had been told that you were cold hearted and selfish; but I said love is invincible and must prevail; youth is susceptible and cannot resist the impressions of gratitude. I said this, Mittie, one year ago, in faith and hope and self-reliance. I have now come to tell you that my vow is fulfilled. I have done all that is due to you, nay, more, far more. It remains for me to fulfill my duties to myself. If I cannot make you _love_ me, I will not allow you to _despise_ me."