In course of time, Rachel Carter came to the end of her story. She had made no attempt to justify herself, had uttered no word of regret, no signal of repentance, no plea for forgiveness. The cold, unfaltering truth, without a single mitigating alloy in the shape of sentiment, had issued from her tired but unconquered soul. She went through to the end without being interrupted by the girl, whose silence was eloquent of a strength and courage unsurpassed even by this woman from whom she had, after all, inherited both. She did not flinch, she did not cringe as the twenty-year-old truth was laid bare before her. She was made of the same staunch fibre as her mother, she possessed the indomitable spirit that stiffens and remains unyielding in the face of calamity. "Now you know everything," said Rachel Carter wearily. "I have tried to keep it from you. But the truth will out. It is God's law. I would have spared you if I could. You are of my flesh and blood, you are a part of me. There has never been an instant in all these hard, trying years when I have not loved and cherished you as the gift that no woman, honest or dishonest, can despise. You will know what that means when you have a child of your own, and you will never know it until that has come to pass. You may cast me out of your heart, Viola, but you cannot tear yourself out of mine. So! I have spoken. There is no more." She turned her head to look out of the window. Viola did not move. Presently the older woman spoke again. "Your name is Minda Carter. You will be twenty-two years old next September. You have no right to the name of Gwynne. The boy who lives in that house over yonder is the only one who has a right to it. But his birthright is no cleaner than yours. You can look him in the face without shame to yourself, because your father was an honest man and your mother was his loyal, faithful wife,--and Kenneth Gwynne can say no more than that." "Nor as much," burst from the girl's lips with a fervour that startled her mother. "His father was not a loyal, faithful husband, nor was he an honest man or he would have married you." She was on her feet now, her body bent slightly, forward, her smouldering eyes fixed intently upon her; mother's face. Rachel Carter stared incredulously. Something in Viola's eyes, in the ring of her voice caused her heart to leap. "I was his wife in the eyes of God," she began, but something rushed up into her throat and seemed to choke her. "And you have told Kenneth all this?" cried Viola, a light as of understanding flooding her eyes. "He knows? How long has he known?" "I--I can't remember. Some of it for weeks, some of it only since last night." "Ah!" There was a world of meaning in the cry. Even as she uttered it she seemed to feel his arms about her and the strange thrill that had charged through her body from head to foot. She sat down again on the edge of the bed; a dark wave of colour surging to her cheek and brow.