is success must depend upon the skill of his hypocrisy,
and that he must at last die a liar, lay upon him with cold
oppression. Kindness was a reproach and love was a censure. Some one
tapped at the door.

"Come in."

Mrs. Witherspoon entered. "I just wanted to see if you were
comfortable," she said, seating herself in a rocking-chair.

"So much so that I am tempted to rebel against it," he answered.

She smiled sadly. "There are so many things that I wanted to say to
you, dear, but I haven't had a chance, somehow."

Her eyes were tear-stricken and her voice trembled. "It isn't possible
that you could know what a mother's love is, my son."

"I _didn't_ know, but you have taught me."

"No, not yet; but I will--if you'll let me."

"If I'll let you?" He looked at her in surprise.

"Yes, if you will bear with me. Sit here," she said, tapping the broad
arm of the chair. He obeyed, and she took his arms and put them about
her neck. "There hasn't been much love in my life, precious. Perhaps I
am not showy enough, not strong enough for the place I occupy."

"But you are good enough to hold the place of an angel."

She attempted to speak, but failed. Something fell on her hand, and
she looked up. The man was weeping. They sat there in silence.

"In your early life," she said, pressing his arms closer about her
neck, "my love sought to protect you, but now it must turn to you for
support. Your uncle--but you told me not to speak of him." She paused
a moment, and then continued: "Your uncle did me a deep wrong, but I
had wronged him. Oh, I don't know why I did. And he had kept my
letters all these years." Another silence. She was the first to speak.
"Ellen loves me, but a daughter's love is more of a help than a
support."

"And father?"

"Oh, he is good and kind," she quickly answered, "but somehow I
haven't kept up with him. He is so strong, and I fear that my nature
is too simple; I haven't force enough to help him when he's worried.
He hasn't said so, but I know it! And of course you don't understand
me yet; but won't you bear with me?"

In her voice there was a sad pleading for love, and this man, though
playing a part, dropped the promptings of his role, and with the
memory of his own mother strong within him, pressed this frail woman
to his bosom and with tender reverence kissed her.

"Oh," she sobbed, "I thank God for bringing you back to me. Good
night."

He closed the door when she was gone, and stoo