"There," she said, "see, I've drunk every drop. So don't worry about me any more, my poor old Hannibal, but go to bed, after your hard day's work." But Hannibal would not venture out of his dark corner, but muttered, brokenly: "Lor--bress--you--Miss Edie--you'se an angel--I'se be better soon--I'se got--de hiccups." Edith thought it kindness to leave the old man to recover his self-control in his own time and way, so she said: "Good-night, my faithful old friend. You're worth your weight in gold." Meantime, Laura had helped Mrs. Allen to her room but now she came running down to Edith, with new trouble in her face, saying: "Mother's crying so, I can't do anything with her." At first Mrs. Allen's heart seemed hardened against her erring child, but on reaching her room she stood a few moments irresolutely, then went to a drawer, took out an old faded picture-case and opened it. From it Zell smiled out upon her, a little, dimpled baby. Then, as if by a sudden impulse rare to her, she pressed her lips against the unconscious face, and threw herself into her low chair, sobbing so violently that Laura became alarmed. Even in that arid place, Mrs. Allen's heart, there appeared a little oasis of mother love, as this last and bitterest sorrow pierced its lowest depths. She might cast out from her affection the grown, sinning daughter, but not the baby that once slept upon her breast. As Edith came and took her hand she said, brokenly: "It seems--but yesterday--that she was--a wee black-eyed--little thing--in my arms--and your father--came--and looked at her--so proudly--tenderly--" "Would to heaven she had died then!" said Edith, sternly. "It would have been better if we had all died then,", said Mrs. Allen drearily, and becoming quiet. Edith's words fell like a chill upon her unwontedly stirred heart, and old habits of feeling and action resumed sway. With Mrs. Allen's words ended the miserable day of Zell's flight. Hannibal's words were true. Zell, in her unnatural absence, would be more in the way--a heavier burden--than if she had become a helpless invalid upon their hands. CHAPTER XXI EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT The next morning Edith was too ill to rise. She had become chilled after her extraordinary exertion of the previous evening, and a severe cold was the consequence; and this, with the nervous prostration of an over-taxed system, made her appear more seriously indisposed than she really was. For the sake of her mother and Laura, she wished to be present at the meagre little breakfast which her economy now permitted, but found it impossible; and later in the day her mind seemed disposed to wander.