sorrow, but it
cannot shut out altogether the pain of a mother's grief at the loss of
an only son. In spite of all Hervey's crimes he was "the only son of
his mother, and she was a widow." The story of his villainies was
rigidly kept from her, and so she thought of him only as a prodigal,
as a boy to be pitied, as one whose offences must be condoned; she
sought for his good points, and, in her sweet motherly heart, saw a
wonderful deal in him on which to centre her loving memory, which, had
he lived, even she could never have discovered. It is something that
erring man has to be humbly grateful for, that women are like this; so
full of the patient, enduring love which can see no wrong in the
object of their affections.

But Loon Dyke Farm became intolerable to Hephzibah Malling after the
ghastly tragedy of her son's death; and when Robb and Alice saw fit to
marry, urged on to that risky experiment by the two older ladies, she
insisted upon leasing the place to them on ridiculously easy terms.
She would have given it to them only for their steady refusal to
accept such a magnificent wedding gift from her.

The old lady was rich enough for her needs and her daughter's, and,
business woman as she was, she was generous to a fault where her
affections were concerned. Prudence too was satisfied with any
arrangement which would take her away from the farm. Knowing what she
knew of her brother, Loon Dyke could never again be her home. So
mother and daughter retired to Ainsley, and only once again did they
return to their old home on the briefest of visits, and that was to
assist at the function of christening the son and heir of the
Chillingwoods.

Later on Prudence induced her mother to make Winnipeg her home, but
though, for her daughter's sake, she acceded to the request, she was
never quite at ease among her new surroundings. Nor was Sarah
Gurridge, when she visited her old friend during her holidays, slow to
observe this. "My dear," she told Alice, one day after her summer
vacation, "Hephzibah is failing fast. She's quite old, although she is
my junior by two years and three months. An idle life doesn't suit
her; and as for Prudence, she wears fine clothes, and goes out in
society all day and most of the night, but she's that thin and
melancholy that you wouldn't know her for the same child. It's my
opinion that she's pining--they are both pining. I found a letter from
Hamilton when I got back home. It was from George