"I’m a hard woman," she said to herself; "aye, and I’ll be hard. I’m too old to change now, and nobody cares, nobody cares what I’m like or what I do. If any one cared ever such a little bit, I might be different; but nobody cares, least of all God; He’s shut me out of His good books long ago. I shall never get to His Heaven, never! Even if He let me into His Heaven, I shouldn’t be happy psalm-singing, and praising Him, and living in His presence. Not I! I don’t care at all for Him, and that’s truth. And if, as some say, in heaven the angels are always ministering to others and doing deeds of kindness, that work wouldn’t suit me. Not it!" She laughed shrilly, as if in derision of the idea; and the darkness deepened around her. "I don’t care an atom for other people. Not I!" she went on, and again her weird, unholy laugh rang through the room. Its echoes reached a young man and woman who stood at the door, hesitating before ringing the bell again, and caused them both to shiver. "Nobody cares for me, and I care for nobody!" soliloquised Mrs. Cameron. "If any one cared ever so little, it would be different. Oh, dear! What’s that?" An exceedingly loud rapping at the street door made her start up, exclaiming angrily, "Those tramps again!" She bounced out of the room and across the little hall to the door, opening it somewhat gingerly, and crying out the while in her sharpest tones, "I’ve nothing for you! Get away! Go!" Then she attempted to shut the door, but a strong hand held, it so firmly that she could not close it, whilst a voice spoke, which she was unable to hear for her own clamour. "If you don’t be off I’ll prosecute you!" she cried, menacingly. "Mother! It is I, Bernard! Let me in." The words reached her ears at last, penetrating even to her starved and icy heart. "Bernard!" She fell back a pace, and the door flew open, revealing her son and a lady by his side. The street light fell upon the two, and also upon the pale, astonished face of the unhappy woman they had come to see. "Bernard!" "Mother!" He put his arms round her neck, in his old boyish way, forgetting everything except that she was his mother, who was looking miserable, whilst he had come to her in his joy, with his dear young wife by his side. "If any one cared ever so little, it would be different," she had said to herself. Well, here was Bernard, and he cared for her, in spite of everything, and--_it was different_. "My son! My son! Forgive me," she said, clinging to him, her tears falling on his manly face and neck, as he kissed her tenderly. "All right, mother! The past is past," he whispered. "I want you to welcome Doris," he added low in her ear. "She is my wife now." Mrs. Cameron turned to Doris, holding out her hand, but the young wife raised her face, and she had to kiss her, too.