n mother's voice. Now it was all gone, and also
the old look from her eyes. Cynthia Lennox was, in fact, quite
another woman to the young girl from what she had been to the child.
In truth, she cared not one whit for Ellen, but she was possessed
with a stern desire of atonement, and far stronger than her love was
the appreciation of what that mother opposite must have suffered
during that day and night when she had forcibly kept her treasure.
The agony of that she could present to her consciousness very
vividly, but she could not awaken the old love which had been the
baby's for this young girl. Cynthia felt much more affection for
Fanny than for Ellen. When she had unfolded her plan for sending
Ellen to college, and Fanny had almost gone hysterical with delight,
she found it almost impossible to keep her tears back. She knew so
acutely how this other woman felt that she almost seemed to lose her
own individuality. She began to be filled with a vicarious adoration
of Ellen, which was, however, dissipated the moment she actually saw
her. She realized that this grown-up girl, who could no longer be
cuddled and cradled, was nothing to her, but her sympathy with the
mother remained.

Ellen remained standing after she had greeted Cynthia. Robert went
over to the mantle-piece and stood leaning against it. He was
completely puzzled and disturbed by the whole affair. Ellen looked
at Cynthia, then at her parents. "Ellen, come here, child," said her
father, suddenly, and Ellen went over to him, sitting on the plush
sofa beside her mother.

Andrew reached up and took hold of Ellen's hands, and drew her down
on his knee as if she had been a child. "Ellen, look here," he said,
in an intense, almost solemn voice, "father has got something to
tell you."

Fanny began to weep almost aloud. Cynthia looked straight ahead,
keeping her features still with an effort. Robert studied the carpet
pattern.

"Look here, Ellen," said Andrew; "you know that father has always
wanted to do everything for you, but he ain't able to do all he
would like to. God hasn't prospered him, and it seems likely that he
won't be able to do any more than he has done, if so much, in the
years to come. You know father has always wanted to send you to
college, and give you an extra education so you could teach in a
school where you would make a good living, and now here Miss Lennox
says she heard your composition, and she has heard a good deal about
you from Mr