“The little one that is coming to me had no part in the sin of its ignorant young mother, and should not bear the consequences of her treachery. Neither would it be right that a shadow should rest on the mother that the world might visit on the child. Therefore, it is best that I should go through another ceremony with her, to make all things secure for honor’s sake.” “You will live with her again?” With a slight flush he answered: “Nominally, yes. That is to say, she will be an inmate of my home, and I shall treat her with respect before my household and before the world. But, beyond that, we shall be as utter strangers.” “She ought to be thankful for even that grace. Few would have granted so much, but the honor of the Laurens is above everything else. Still, it will be a hard life for you, my son.” “If I can not endure it, I will travel,” he replied. “You will be an exile for the sake of that girl, your life spoiled, your heart empty--oh, it is cruel!” she exclaimed. “Do not pity me, mother, I can not bear it!” he said, hastily, then rising: “I think I must get Charley and go out as we have to make arrangements for that private ceremony in the morning. Of course you know it must be managed so that it may never come to the world’s ears?” “I know. I will see to all that, but I think you had better ask the Barrys to be present,” she said. “I will ask them,” he replied. The door opened, admitting Doctor Charley. “I am ready to go with you, Cecil, to see about the license and the minister.” “Thank you,” then with inexpressible bitterness: “Let us be quite sure to have the right name this time.” “All right. I asked her and she wrote it down for me here,” handing Cecil a card on which he read in a familiar chirography that made his heart throb fiercely, the simple name: “Mary Ernestine Trueheart.” Charley continued, kindly: “Her age is about eighteen. She could not have been much more than a child when you first saw her, Cecil?” “Mrs. Barry said she was five-and-twenty,” he replied, and there flashed over him a remembrance of the times when Molly had declared she was not yet seventeen. “She almost betrayed herself, then,” he thought, but he said nothing more to his brother, only when they were leaving the house. “We will call on the Barrys,” he said. “Mother thinks they should be present at the ceremony tomorrow.” “I do not think Lou--I mean Molly--would like it, Cecil,” Doctor Charley said, quickly, but his brother answered, morosely: “It does not matter. We are not arranging the ceremony to please _her_, Charley.” “But why humiliate her further? She is wretched enough already.” “Not half so wretched as I am,” Cecil answered, with sudden sharp anger. Doctor Charley could be obstinate, too, although he was so much sweeter-tempered than his brother. “Very well, ask the Barrys if you like, but I am not going with you to call on them,” he replied quietly. Cecil resented the refusal.