only too well that she had spoken truly when she had said that
her little son might die that night. She knew only too surely why she
had been shut out. And almost she submitted--the blow seemed so
certain, so close. The despair that resembles resignation in its
apathy almost conquered her, as she waited for the hand of death to
strike.

But while she waited, lying in the quiet darkness, there suddenly came
to her the idea that she might still save Eric. Morbid from grief and
fatigue, she had not a doubt that his death was a "judgment" on
herself; a punishment. Because she had neglected him for her own
selfish ends; nay, more, because she had not been glad of his coming in
the beginning, God was about to take him from her. She was mercilessly
sure of this--sure with the awakened blood, the inherited traditions of
many Calvinistic ancestors, the stern forefathers of her father. Her
own more liberal faith, her personal conception of a God benignant and
very tender, went down before that grim heritage of more rigorous
consciences. But with the self-conviction springing from that
heritage, there came, too, the suggestion that she might make her peace
with God; that with sufficient proof of her penitence, she might
prevail upon Him to spare Eric.

Again and again the suggestion reached her, in the "still, small voice"
which may have been the voice of her own inner self, or of the
surviving, guiding souls of her ancestors, or of God Himself. Again
and again it spoke to her--whatever it was, from whatever source it
rose; again and again, until it was still and small no longer, but
strong and purposeful, and its message unmistakable.

She could but heed it--thankfully. And so she began to cast about in
her mind for the proof of her contrition. It could be no light thing,
no trivial surrender of self. It must be a sacrifice--a sacrifice such
as the ancient tribes of Israel would have offered an incensed God. It
must be--she saw it in a flash!--it must be her work.

"If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for
it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and
not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

"And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee:
for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish,
and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell."

This, then, must she do. She must pluck out that thing which had