There was something so pathetic in the fostermother's love for the child and her fear of its being cast on the world as no one seemed to know anything about the supposed mother. Then her return to her early home; her struggles against misfortune, poverty and ill health, and after a little, her dismay at finding the child so different from what she had been herself, so ambitious, so longing for refinement and showing such a distaste for common ways. The failure of her own health, the impossibility of keeping the girl at school any longer when Mrs. Barrington's proffer had seemed a perfect godsend. But it was too late to recover the health that had been so shattered by poverty and hard work. "Well, if it _is_ true she was a courageous woman," declared Miss Crawford. "One can't forgive her for taking the child without making a single inquiry." "But everything was in such confusion, and you will remember that Marguerite lay unconscious for a long while, just hovering between life and death. And at that time, in the western countries there were not so many safeguards. When Dr. Kendricks reached the place, Jane and the baby had been temporarily buried. Yes, it was easy for the thing to happen when Mrs. Boyd wanted the baby so much. I can hardly forgive her, but we must admit that the confession showed an earnest desire to repair the wrong." "Where is she?" "At Mrs. Barrington's. Dr. Kendricks thinks she can last but a few days longer and the child is resolved to stay until the end. I tried to shake her determination but found it useless." "I admire her for it," said Mrs. Crawford. "I should doubt her fervent love if it could be transferred so easily from poverty to wealth. Yes, I am proud of my dear daughter whom I have not seen in fifteen years. But the whole story is marvellous." "And yet there is nothing impossible about it. We can see how simply it all happened." "What is she like?" "Mrs. Barrington was quite puzzled about a resemblance to some one, and she thinks it you. She has not the radiant beauty of your girlhood, neither has she the dazzling charm of Zay. Oh, I think she is the most like Willard; rather too grand for a girl of sixteen, with a great deal of dignity. Oh, you should hear Mrs. Barrington talk about her. And how do you suppose she and the doctor kept the secret yesterday! They knew it would disturb our happy Christmas. And _she_ was nursing the sick woman." "Oh, did she know?" "Not that she was our daughter until this morning. I felt bewildered over it all," and Major Crawford gave a deep drawn sigh. His wife pressed his hand. Her tears were flowing silently. "Well--it will be very strange to have her here," remarked Miss Crawford. "But I warn you, Zay will always be the dearest to me." Twilight was falling around them. Mrs. Crawford would never have her own lights early. This was her favorite hour with her husband. Aunt Kate stole softly to Zay's room and found her sleeping tranquilly, the fever mostly gone.