“I know it, Kenneth, and I am going to say something that may surprise you. I don't harbor any ill-feeling toward you. I simply can't. Living so close with Dora has lifted me up in spiritual things. I can't have anything but pity for the consequences of sin and temptation. What you did wasn't a proof that you didn't love my child. It only proved that the temptation you had, at the moment of your fall, kept you from realizing what you would lose. That's all. I believe you loved her then, that you did even after you left her, and I am sure that you do now more than ever; in fact, I made that plain to her. I think she sees it, too, _in her way_; but it doesn't help her overcome her pride. I am sorry for her--more so than I ever imagined I could be for a woman under any trial. She is pulled many ways by duty, and she is fairly in an agony, undecided as to--” “_Undecided?_ Did you say that?” Galt leaned forward eagerly, his lips quivering, as he waited breathlessly. “Yes, she is undecided. You see, things have come to such a focus that we must leave here. She has just learned that Fred Walton has been falsely accused by many persons, and she always liked him. He is coming back home, and she wants to clear his name, and yet she shrinks from having her private affairs brought in public view again. She said, herself, that if she could get her own consent to become your wife, then everybody would understand the truth, and not blame him. Then there is the child--” “Yes, Lionel!” Galt panted. “We must save him, and we can--we can, if Dora could only--” “She knows that full well,” the woman said, passing her gaunt hand over her withered mouth and swallowing the rising lump in her throat. “If you only could have--have heard what I did to-night it would have wrung tears from your eyes. Lionel had waked up, and she had to go to him. He couldn't sleep for what was on his mind. Kenneth Galt, that little angel was simply begging his mother not to let you go away--think of it, actually pleading for you! He had heard you say you were going, and, in some way, he fancied Dora could persuade you to stay. He cried till his little pillow was wet. He told her he loved you, that you had said he was your little boy, and that he wanted to be with you always. I heard her pleading with him and arguing, but through it all his little voice would continue to cry out that it should not be so--that he wanted _you_, and that _you_ wanted _him_.” “God bless him!” burst from the lips of the bowed man.