"Oh, dear, I have thought it all out. You were not of my kind. It fretted me at first. You were always a little lady, doing things in a nicer way than most girls, and you were forever reading and studying. If we could have kept the boarding house," in tones of regret, "but there was my long illness and the house was sold torn down for a great factory. Then I took up the sewing. It was easier in some ways. I liked Sally Marks and her mother so much. The gay jolliness and the merry chat. They were like two girls together. But your heart was set on the High School. Oh, Lilian, do believe I would have kept you there if I could. Then I began to wonder what your own mother and father had been like, and if your father was alive. Perhaps he could have done much better for you. The thought wore on me, and I was not well; I knew that. You see I should have had a girl who did not mind working in a shop and enjoying good times with other girls, going to parties and picnics and having lovers and marrying as I did, and having babies. I loved babies so. To be a grandmother to a little flock seemed very heaven to me." "Oh, mother, don't! You will break my heart," sobbed Lilian. "No, child, you were not to blame. God gave you all these high thoughts and ambitions; I never had any of them, and after we came here I understood it still better. You belonged to these kind of people, your ways were theirs, your ambition was right, and I was very thankful that such a refuge opened for us. You have been a good, devoted child. Tomorrow we will talk it over again. Now will you send for some toast and eat. Oh, Lilian, child, don't cry. God will bring you out right and forgive me for what I did out of longing love." Lilian turned, Miss Arran took a step forward. "I will bring it to you," she said, and she motioned to Mrs. Dane who stood like a statue. "Let us go to Mrs. Barrington. She must know this," she whispered. Lilian bathed her face and readjusted her mother's pillows. The whole world seemed in a daze about her. Yet she was not so much surprised either, but stunned, incapable now of judging whether there had been any right or wrong. If no one belonging to her had been found--and her own mother was among the killed, she might have been turned over to some foundling asylum. "I feel much better," exclaimed Mrs. Boyd. "But, oh, Lilian, don't pray for me to live, for I should be a helpless burden on you, and I'll have my two own babies in heaven. I meant to do it for the best when I claimed you, and I think God will understand. It's been a poor, broken sort of life but I've tried to do up to the lights I had, and yours will be better, higher. Mrs. Barrington appreciated you and will help you. God surely opened this way for us." Was it truly of God's providence? She had longed so ardently for the refinements of life, the possibilities of education. Some times it seemed as if He answered petitions in the suppliant's way and freighted them with another burden.