Catherine was so overjoyed at finding her suspicions with regard to Mary's love affairs unfounded, that she now said a good deal more than she really meant. She never for a moment entertained the idea of freeing Mary. The girl would be far too useful to the Society, for the carrying out of that scheme that was dearer to the woman than was even the happiness of her darling. But it was well, she thought, to humour her now that she was ill. It would hasten her recovery to remove this weight of anxiety from her for the time. When this weakness was passed the girl would see clearly again, be brave once more, and return to her allegiance. "Oh, mother," cried Mary, "you are so generous, so unselfish, I don't know how to tell you all; you will, I know, be angry; but I must tell you now. I cannot deceive you that have been so kind, so good. You don't suspect the half of what is on my mind." "Well, dear, tell me then. It will do you good to relieve your mind of it." Then the girl steeled herself for her task, and continued in a calm though tremulous voice, casting down her eyes, not daring to meet the woman's gaze. "Mother! I have changed--I have come to think that perhaps we are all wrong. We that know so little, are we not rash in believing that good will come of what we propose to do? May it not be altogether bad from every point of view to do this terrible thing, even if it does produce a great good in another direction? Oh, mother! I have come to see what love is, I have come to see how these Christians love. It is not as you taught me they did. I cannot believe all these instincts are false." She paused; though she was determined to tell the secret of her heart to Catherine King, she could not bring herself to do it; the words would not come. "The poor little children, mother!" she cried passionately, raising her head, "Oh! since I have been living among them--if you had been living among them you too would have felt as I do. Oh, mother, mother!" The girl's excitement overcame her, she could speak no more for the choking sensation in her throat. Her words stung Catherine. "You have indeed changed!" was all she could reply, in a dry, stifled voice. "Ah! but that is not all," cried Mary. "Oh, my God! my God!" and she wrung her hands with anguish as she met the stern glance of the Chief. The girl's new faith and love were contending with the strong influence of her old mistress, and the conflict seemed to tear her heart. "Go on!" said Catherine, in the same tones as before. "What more have you to say?" Mary endeavoured to proceed--to confess her love for Dr. Duncan without further hesitation or digression. She made a great effort. But the weak brain could do no more. It became suddenly paralyzed. Her thoughts froze within her, and she could not utter a single word. A dazed look came to her eyes. She looked at Catherine with a vacant smile. All memory of the subject of the conversation vanished in a moment from her mind.