mery's pale glare of
horror. "Oh, I didn't mean that!" she cried, running to her mother;
"I'm sorry, Mother! I'm sorry!"

The tears began running down Mrs. Emery's cheeks, "I don't know my
little Lydia any more," she said weakly, dropping her head back on the
pillow.

"I don't know myself!" cried Lydia, sobbing violently, "I'm so unhappy!"

Mrs. Emery took her in her arms with a forgiveness which dropped like a
noose over Lydia's neck, "There, there, darling! Mother knows you didn't
mean it! But you must remember, Lydia dearest, if you're unhappy these
days, so is your poor mother."

"I'm making you so!" sobbed Lydia, "I know it! something like this
happens every day! It's why you don't get well faster! I'm making you
unhappy!"

"It doesn't make any difference about me!" Mrs. Emery heroically assured
her, "I don't want you to be influenced by thinking about my feelings,
Lydia. Above everything in the world, I don't want you to feel the
_slightest_ pressure from me--or any one of the family. Oh, darling, all
I want--all any of us want, is what is best for our little Lydia!"

CHAPTER XII

A SOP TO THE WOLVES

Six o'clock had struck when Mrs. Sandworth came wearily back from her
Christmas shopping. It was only the middle of November, but each year
she began her preparations for that day of rejoicing earlier and
earlier, in a vain attempt to avoid some of the embittering desolation
of confusion and fatigue which for her, as for all her acquaintances,
marked the December festival. She let herself down heavily from the
trolley-car which had brought her from the business part of Endbury back
to what was known as the "residential section," a name bestowed on it to
the exclusion of several other much larger divisions of town devoted
exclusively to the small brick buildings blackened by coal smoke in
which ordinary people lived.

As she walked slowly up the street, her arms were full of bundles, her
heart full of an ardent prayer that she might find her brother either
out or in a peaceable mood. She loved and admired Dr. Melton more than
anyone else in the world, but there were moments when the sum total of
her conviction about him was an admission that his was not a reposeful
personality. For the last fortnight, this peculiarity had been
accentuated till Mrs. Sandworth's loyalty had cracked at every seam in
order not to find him intolerable to live with. Moreover, her own kind
heart and intense partiality for