"No, no," cries Lizzie, understanding instinctively the woman's need for sympathy, "don't go, or I shall think you are angry. You were going to speak to me." The girl raises her arm, and draws Mrs. Lenoir's head to her pillow. "Remember, I have no mother." She presses her lips to Mrs. Lenoir's face, which is wet with tears. "Mrs. Lenoir, you have been crying." "It is nothing, Lizzie; I often cry when I am alone." "But you are not alone now; I am with you, and I love you." "It is kind of you to say so; you are in the mood to love, and to believe all things fair and good." "And do not you believe so, Mrs. Lenoir?" "Once I did. There was a time----" What reminiscence was in the speaker's mind remained there unexpressed. "Lizzie, you lost your mother when you were a child." "Yes." "How old were you when she died?" "Not quite five years." "And you remember her?" "Yes." "With love?" "Oh, yes." "If," says Mrs. Lenoir, with almost painful hesitation, "she had died, or you had lost her earlier, do you think you would have forgotten her?" "Oh, no, Mrs. Lenoir; I should have always remembered her, have always loved her." "She was kind to you Lizzie." "She loved me more than all the world." "You mean," says Mrs. Lenoir, with fierce eagerness, "she loved as a mother loves, as a woman loves--as only a woman loves!" "Mrs. Lenoir," asks Lizzie slowly, "do not men love as faithfully as women?" "Ask your own heart. You love Charlie and he loves you. Which do you suppose is the stronger love, the most constant, the most likely to endure?" "I do not know," replies Lizzie, her sadder tone denoting that Mrs. Lenoir's sadness is contagious. "I do not want to think that Charlie's love is not as strong as mine, and yet--and yet--I do not believe he can love me as much as I love him." "It need not distress you, Lizzie, to think so; it is in the nature of things. It is impossible for a man to love with the whole soul as a woman loves--often, alas! unhappily for her." "And often, too, happily for her," remonstrates Lizzie, with sudden and tender cheerfulness. "A moment ago I felt inclined to regret the thought you put into my mind--that a woman's love is naturally stronger than a man's; but when I think of it, as I am thinking now, I would not have it altered if I could. It is far better for us that it should be so. If I loved Charlie less, I should be less happy; and it makes me glad to think that I can give him more love than he can give me." "God forbid," says Mrs. Lenoir, "that I should endeavour to shake your faith in Charlie. I was speaking out of the experience of a woman with whose sad history I am acquainted. I am tired, Lizzie. Good night. A happy day to-morrow!" But Lizzie's fond arms cling to Mrs. Lenoir's neck; she is loth to let her go without obtaining from her a mark of affection which has been withheld. "Mrs. Lenoir, I have kissed you twenty times." "Well, Lizzie."