."

The girl shuddered visibly. Her proud little head drooped, her fixed
and fearless eyes sank shamed to the ground. "I have always taken care
of Fina," she said in a humbled voice, as if it was a plea for pardon
that she was putting forward.

"You pushed me in, and you did it on purpose," repeated Fina; and Mr.
Dundas was shocked at himself to find that he speculated for a moment
on the amount of truth there might be in the child's statement.

Cold, trembling, distressed, Leam turned away. Would that sin of hers
always thus meet her face to face? Should she never be free from
its shadow? Go where she would, it followed her, ineffaceable,
irreparable--the shame of it never suffered to die out, its remorse
never quenched, the sword always above her head, to fall she knew not
when, but to fall some day: yes, that she did know.

"But you must go up stairs now," said Josephine with a creditable
effort after practicality: "we shall have you both seriously ill
unless you get your clothes changed at once."

Mr. Dundas looked at her kindly. "How wise and good you are!" he said
with almost enthusiasm; and Josephine, her eyes humid with glad tears,
her cheeks flushed with palpitating joy, sank in soul to him again,
as so often before, and offered the petition of her humble love, which
wanted only his royal signature to make an eternal bond.

"I love little Fina," she said tremulously. It was as if she had said,
"I love you."

Then she turned into the house and indulged her maternal instinct by
watching nurse as she undressed the child, put her in a warm bath,
gave her some hot elderberry wine and water, laid her in her little
bed, and with many kisses bade her go to sleep and forget all about
everything till tea-time. And the keen relish with which she
followed all these nursery details marked her fitness for the post
of pro-mother so distinctly that it made nurse look at her more than
once, and think--also made her say, as a feeler--"Law, miss! what a
pity you've not had one of your own!"

Her tenderness of voice and action with the child when soothing her at
the door had also made Sebastian think, and the child's fondness for
this soft-faced, weak and kindly woman was setting a mark on the man's
mind, well into middle age as she was. He began to ask himself whether
the blighted tree could ever put forth leaves again? whether there was
balm in Gilead yet for him, and nepenthe for the past in the happiness
of the futur