ut that being determined and beyond the reach of change, her heart
ached for the dilemma which was more painful than any which enters into
the possibilities of younger life. As Lady Markland leant towards her,
claiming her sympathy, her face full of sentiments so conflicting, the
joy of love and yet the anguish of it, and all the contrariety of a
heart torn in two, the youthfulness, when all was said, of this expressive
countenance, the recollection that, after all, this woman who claimed to
be on her own level was not too old to be her child, seized upon Mrs.
Warrender. Nothing that is direct and simple can be so poignant as those
complications in which right and wrong and all the duties of human life
are so confused that no sharply cut division is possible. What was she
to do? She would owe all her heart to her husband, and what was to
remain for her child? Geoff had upon her the first claim of nature; her
love, her care, were his right--but then Theo? The old mother took the
young one into her arms, with an ache of sympathy. "Oh, my dear, what
can I say to you? We must leave it to Providence. Things come round when
we do not think too much of them, but do our best."

How poor a panacea, how slight a support! and yet in how many cases all
that one human creature can say to another! To do our best and to think
as little as possible, and things will come round! The absolute mind
scorns the mild consolation. To Theo it would have been an irritation,
a wrong, but Theo's betrothed received it with humbler consciousness.
The sympathy calmed her, and that so moderate, so humble, voucher of
experience that things come round. Was it really so? was nothing so bad
as it appeared? was it true that the way opened before you little by
little in treading it, as she who had gone on so much farther on the
path went on to say? Lady Markland regained her composure as she
listened.

"You are speaking to me like a true mother," she said. "I have never
known what that was. Help me, only help me! even to know that you
understand me is so much--and do not blame me."

"Dear Lady Markland----"

"I have a name," she said, with a smile which was full of pain, as if
marking another subject of trouble, "which is my own, which cannot be
made any question of. Will you call me Frances? It would please him.
They say it would be unusual, unreasonable, a thing which is never
done--to give up---- Is that Theo? Dear Mrs. Warrender, I shall be far
happ