did it for
the sake of my aching, lonely heart. But for the child I believe I must
have died then. Doesn't God forgive when you do what seems best?"

There was anguish in every line of the wasted face.

"God knows the motive of every deed, and if it is done in single
mindedness, in love and charity he will accept."

"It was done in love. You see, her mother was dead. There was no one to
claim her. Oh, what am I saying! Go away, you can do nothing for me,"
and she turned her face over to the wall.

He stood some seconds by her. She was crying softly, and again motioned
him away with her hand.

He went out of the room and looked around. Yes, there was Mrs.
Barrington.

"What is the matter between that mother and daughter?" he inquired
brusquely. "She seems--well _is_ the girl her own child? Has she
done--something--"

"Oh, doctor can you spare a little time? I am troubled and puzzled. She
made a strange confession last night and it seemed almost as if I knew
the connecting link. Let me call Mrs. Dane and Miss Arran."

They came and at Mrs. Barrington's invitation were seated. The doctor
studied them a moment with drawn brows.

"Doctor, I want you to relate your experience of more than fifteen years
ago when you went out to the scene of that frightful accident from which
Mrs. Crawford has suffered so long and when her twin daughter was lost."

"What has that to do with it?"

"You will see. I believe Major Crawford left his wife and daughter in
your charge when he was ordered to the west with his regiment."

"Yes." He seemed to study a few moments. "Then came the word of the
skirmish with the Indians when he was wounded in the leg which proved so
much worse than he first thought and she decided to go out to him and
take one of the babies. He had gone fairly wild over the birth of the
little girls; they had so longed for a daughter. Marguerite, if you
remember, was a strong, robust baby, laughing if you so much as smiled
at her. A beautiful baby, I thought, looking much like her mother.
Zaidee was smaller and more delicate, though never ill that I can
recall. She decided to take Marguerite and the wet nurse who was very
proud of her charge and fond of Mrs. Crawford. When we heard of the
frightful disaster you may remember that I went out at once. It was a
most dreary place, just a sort of freight station where the tracks
crossed the through road. It could not be called a town, though now it
is a thriving city