gh moments, but even in those occasionally recurrent ones of
rebellion and fear. In the latter, indeed, she turned to Ted now for
courage and strength, and in the fullness and tenderness of his
response she felt herself more his than she had ever been. But her
resolve not to tell him about her talk with Alice North persisted. It
had been, at first, the resolution of a determined opposition to his
views, but it endured through motives more generous. Ted should have
his happiness in approaching parenthood unspoiled. He should not be
hurt by knowing that she had ever looked forward to it with a divided
heart. She could at least conceal that she was unlike other women, and
perhaps, in time, a miracle might be wrought upon her and she be made
wholly like her sisters.

Perhaps, too, in the fullness of time, her work and her motherhood
might be adjusted to each other in her life. As Charlotte had said,
there were women--many of them--who were both artists and mothers. She
herself might be such a woman--some day. She might convert Ted to
this, and go forward to a destiny of complete fulfillment.

But just now, with a sudden and intense accession of conscience, she
yielded herself entirely to the new life that had sprung up within her.
The sum of her strength belonged to it, she told herself, and she could
give herself as completely as other women, whatever the difference
between her mental attitude and theirs. All the while, too, she prayed
for her miracle; prayed that she might become altogether like other
women, altogether like those glad mothers of the race.

She did not pray in vain. There came a day when, with her little son
upon her arms, she whispered, "Oh, I _am_ glad! I am _glad_--glad!"

Glad? Ah, that was a poor, colorless word for the rapture that
descended upon her. Never was the ecstasy of motherhood granted a
woman more utterly. It was like an angel's finger on her lips,
answering her questionings, satisfying her longings, silencing her
discontents. _This_ was life, and it was not cruel and tyrannous, as
she had thought, but infinitely gracious and benevolent. It had used
her, but it had used her for her own happiness. For upon her arm lay
her son!

That she ever could have wanted to escape motherhood, that she ever
could have resented it, now seemed to her unbelievable. She admitted
it to be worth any renunciation, and she gave not one regret to the
renunciation that she had made for it--