It must have been rough." "And to think how I always idealized him!--how I had believed in his love for me and cherished his memory! To discover that even at the last--on his deathbed--he was thinking of that woman!" She wept gently, wiping her eyes with a resigned and suffering gesture on the handkerchief Kesiah had handed her.

"I feel as if my whole universe had crumbled," she said.
"But it was no affront to you, mother--it all happened before he saw you, and was only an episode.

Those things don't bite into a man's life, you know." "Of course, I knew there had been something, but I thought he had forgotten it--that he was faithful to his love for me--his spirit worship, he called it.

Then to find out so long after his death--when his memory had become a part of my religion--that he had turned back at the end." "It wasn't turning away from you, it was merely an atonement.

Your influence was visible even there." "I am sorry for the child, of course," she said sadly, after weeping a little--"who knows but she may have inherited her mother's character ?" "The doctor said you were to be quiet, Angela," remarked Kesiah, who had stood at the foot of the bed in the attitude of a Spartan.