unfair. As for the rest--
well, after all, to know yourself guiltless is the great thing, is it
not? What others think doesn't matter in comparison with that.
And then of course he knew that I, his mother, never believed the
falsehood--no, not for a moment."

"But it spoiled his life?"

Now Humility had spoken, and still stood, with her eyes resting on
the trunk. Beneath its lid, she knew, and on top of Taffy's books
and other treasures, lay a parcel wrapped in tissue paper--a dog
collar with the inscription "_Honoria from Taffy_." So, by lifting
the lid of her thoughts a little--a very little--more, she might have
given Honoria a glimpse of something which her actual answer,
truthful as it was, concealed.

"No. I wouldn't say that. If it had spoilt his life--well, you have
a child of your own and can understand. As it is, it has
strengthened him, I think. He will make his mark--in a different
way. Just now he is only a foreman among masons; but he has a career
opening. Yes, I can forgive you at last."

And, being Humility, she had spoken the truth. But being a woman,
even in the act of pardon she could not forego a small thrust, and in
giving must withhold something.

And Honoria, being a woman, divined that something was withheld.

"And Taffy--your son--do you think that _he_--?"

"He never speaks, if he thinks of it. He will be here presently.
You know--do you not? they are to light the great lantern on the new
lighthouse to-night for the first time. The men have moved in, and
he is down with them making preparations. You have seen the notices
of the Trinity Board? They have been posted for months. Taffy is as
eager over it as a boy; but he promised to be back before sunset to
drink tea with me in honour of the event; and afterwards I was to
walk down to the cliff with him to see."

"Would you mind if I stayed?"

Humility considered before answering. "I had rather you stayed.
He's like a boy over this business; but he's a man, after all."

After this they fell into quite trivial talk, while Humility prepared
the tea things.

"Your mother--Mrs. Venning--how does she face the journey?"

"You must see her," said Humility, smiling, and led her into the room
where the old lady reclined in bed, with a flush on each waxen cheek.
She had heard their voices.

"Bless you"--she was quite cheerful--"I'm ready to go as far as
they'll carry me! All I ask is that in the next place they'll give
me