Kate's mind took a new turn. "She's broken with Clarke, thank Heaven! But the mother clings to him in spite of all." "I am about to suggest to Mrs. Lambert that she go West with her husband, leaving the girl in your care for a little while." "I wish they would!" "She must be freed from even her mother's presence for a while--that is, if they really want to have her cured of her trances." "I see," said Kate, thoughtfully. "The mother is so closely associated with all that tapping." "Precisely. I wish, when Mrs. Lambert is rested, you would ask her to let me see her here. I want to talk these matters over with her in private." "They're both lying down, but I'll tell her when she rises. Don't do anything rash," she added, with a reaction towards caution which amused him. "You may trust me." She came back a few steps, and hesitatingly said. "For, after all, Morton, the girl _is_ abnormal." "So are we all--under abnormal conditions. I am going to see if I can't so change the current of her thought that she will forget her besetments--and you must help me." "She's shockingly pretty and it will be very dangerous having her beneath your very roof." She gave a warning backward look. "How dare you permit it?" "I am a very brave man," he replied, with a smile, and an inflection that puzzled her. XX THE MOTHER'S FAITH Mrs. Lambert entered timidly, her gentle face sadder and its lip-line firmer than he had ever seen it. It was evident that the experiences of the last few days had touched her and shaken her. Up to this time Morton had considered her as a genial but rather negative personality, a soul naturally subordinate to others, but she now rose to an importance in his life which made her real self of the highest significance. His first glance was one of sincerest admiration. Doubtless she had once been as slender and quite as tall as her daughter, and though increasing age and weight had combined to rob her of height and grace, she was, nevertheless, still a distinctly commanding figure. Her head was nobly fashioned, her eyes a candid blue, and her glance clear and unworn in its appeal. Altogether he could not but acknowledge in her a mother of which no man need be ashamed, and in this spirit he met her and invited her to a seat. "Mr. Lambert and I have been talking of the mountains to-day," he began. "I wish we were on our way out there this moment, for I am tired of the city." She brightened under his smile. "I wouldn't mind going home at once, but I know Viola would be disappointed. She has seen so little of the city, and then Mr. Clarke--" She broke off in some confusion as if in sudden recollection of the chasm which had opened between the young clergyman and her daughter.