But, to do this, Mrs.Tretherick had been obliged to take Carry upon her lap, pending the most confidential disclosures.

They sat thus a long time after Mrs.
Tretherick had apparently ceased to be interested in Carry's disclosures; and when lost in thought, she allowed the child to rattle on unheeded, and ran her fingers through the scarlet curls.
"You don't hold me right, Mamma," said Carry at last, after one or two uneasy shiftings of position.
"How should I hold you ?" asked Mrs.Tretherick with a half-amused, half-embarrassed laugh.
"Dis way," said Carry, curling up into position, with one arm around Mrs.Tretherick's neck and her cheek resting on her bosom--"dis way--dere." After a little preparatory nestling, not unlike some small animal, she closed her eyes, and went to sleep.
For a few moments the woman sat silent, scarcely daring to breathe in that artificial attitude.

And then, whether from some occult sympathy in the touch, or God best knows what, a sudden fancy began to thrill her.
She began by remembering an old pain that she had forgotten, an old horror that she had resolutely put away all these years.

She recalled days of sickness and distrust--days of an overshadowing fear--days of preparation for something that was to be prevented, that WAS prevented, with mortal agony and fear.

She thought of a life that might have been--she dared not say HAD been--and wondered.