bathed her face, using
the lavender salts. After a little there was a faint respiration. Then
she opened her eyes and murmured something.

"Mother, dear, what happened? And I was away." "It will be better
when--when I'm gone." The vague glance seemed to study the girl with
poignant anguish. "Oh, yes!--better--"

"You must not say that. You must live to let me repay you for all you
have done for me, and we will be happy--"

She moved her head from side to side in dissent. "Oh, you do not know,
but I did it for love's sake. I could not live without my child."

"Suppose we get her undressed, she will feel more comfortable. She has
not looked well for the last week or two. Mrs. Barrington was speaking
about it, but she is such a quiet body."

Lilian opened the bed. She was girlishly glad her mother's night dress
was neat and lace trimmed, fit to go to her new home. So they soon had
her easier and restful.

"I should like a cup of tea," she said, weakly.

"I'll get it," and Miss Arran left the room.

"Dear mother," and Lilian patted the hands that were thin and cold.

"Oh, love me a little to the end, I've loved you so much. Whatever comes
you will know I did it for love's sake, and you must forgive."

"There can be nothing to forgive. You have worked for me early and late.
You must live and let me repay you, make you happy. If I have failed in
the past I will try with all my soul and strength in the future. Think,
every year brings us nearer the home I shall make for you. Oh, do not
talk of dying!"

"You don't know. I did not think of the wrong then. You were a
motherless babe, then, and I was a childless mother. For you must know,
you must have felt in your inmost soul that I was not your true mother."

Lilian raised her head in the wildest dismay, and though she stared at
Miss Arran she did not seem to see her. Many a time like a lightning
flash the thought had swept over her, but it seemed awful to have it put
in words, to have the certainty pierce through her like a sharp sword.

"Oh, mother, you do not know what you are saying. It is some wretched,
horrid dream! You have been too much alone. You have brooded over this
thought of our differences. Children and parents are often unlike. At
all events I have never known any other mother. You must live and let me
prove a true daughter."

"I did not think there could be any wrong then. If you were cast on the
world friendless, why should I not fill my aching