ly to his very insulting remarks.
That angered him beyond endurance. He struck and threw me across the
room. Then he left the house.

"Over on the hill by the Asylum is the grave of my little son who was
born and died that night."

Ethel started.

"Yes, my dear, I have been a wife and mother. Of course, I knew nothing
until the next day. I recovered consciousness but Robert had gone. He
had taken all of my money that he could find in the house and he had not
gone alone. His companion was a disreputable woman from the town."

Aunt Susan paused and looked over toward the little grave on the
hillside.

"It seemed," she continued, "as though God, who knew my sorrow at losing
my little one, sent me my two dear boys--Tom and Fred. They came into my
life when I most needed them and were my greatest comfort, for I was a
lonely woman, my dear. One day I received a letter written in a strange
hand saying that my husband was ill and not likely to live--that he
wished for me, to ask my forgiveness, and he begged me for God's sake to
go to him. I went. He was in Detroit in a squalid boarding house. I was
shocked at the change. I had not realized that a man could so lose his
good looks as he had done. I took him to a clean place kept by a woman
who had been highly recommended. Upon my arrival he wept bitterly and
begged my pardon. Then I was glad that I had never divorced him as my
friends had advised, for the poor man had been deserted by his companion
when the money had gone. He had kept on sinking lower and lower, ashamed
to appeal to me until when what he thought to be his last illness came
upon him he sent for me to ask my forgiveness."

"Did you give it?" asked the girl.

"Yes, Ethel, I did, and I gave it freely, because for the year past he
had been stone blind. I was so glad that I could cheer him up and make
the few remaining days of his life liveable."

"Did you ask him of his companion?" asked Ethel.

"No, he never spoke of her, nor did I. Had he wished to have told me he
would have done so. Robert had many loveable traits--yes, many noble
traits--but it was drink that ruined him. He was not mercenary. I had
money, but until he began to drink he was too proud to take it from me.
He was truly fond of me and would have married me had I been poor, but
of course after he had started the downward course he lost his pride.

"Well, I joined him in Detroit and stayed until after he died. His sight
never returned, but I