Walking up and down the dimly lighted room, she had a vision of her sin that made her groan. _She_ had made Blair what he was: because it had been easy for her to make things easy for him, she had given him his heart's desire, and brought leanness withal to his soul. In satisfying her own hunger for work, she had forgotten to give it to him, and he had starved for it! She had left, by this time, far behind her the personal affront to her of his reserves; she took meekly the knowledge that he did not love her: she even thought of his marriage as unimportant, or as important only because it was a symptom of a condition for which she was responsible. And having once realized and accepted this fact, there was only one solemn question in her mind: "What am I going to do about it?" For she believed, as other parents have believed before her--and probably will go on believing as long as there are parents and sons--she believed that she could, in some way or other, by the very strength of her agonizing love, force into her son's soul from the outside that Kingdom of God which must be within. "Oh, what am I going to do?" she said to herself. She stood still and covered her face with her hands. "God," she said, "don't punish him! It's my fault; punish me." Perhaps she had never really prayed before. CHAPTER XX Robert Ferguson, in his library, and poor Miss White in the hall, listened with tense nerves for the wheels of the carriage that was to bring David Richie "to breakfast." "Send him in to me," Mr. Ferguson had said; and then had shut himself into his library. Miss White was quivering with terror when at last she heard the carriage door bang. David came leaping up the steps, his face rosy as a girl's in the raw morning air--it was a lowering Mercer morning, with the street lamps burning at eight o'clock in a murk of smoke and fog. He raked the windows with a smiling glance, and then stood, laughing for sheer happiness, waiting for _her_ to open the door to him.