fright beyond my grief, and I caught hold of her dress and was kneeling to her. She had been saying all the while, "Let me go!" But now she stood still.

Her darkened face had such power over me that it stopped me in the midst of my vehemence. I put up my trembling little hand to clasp hers or to beg her pardon with what earnestness I might, but withdrew it as she looked at me, and laid it on my fluttering heart. She raised me, sat in her chair, and standing me before her, said slowly in a cold, low voice — I see her knitted brow and pointed finger — "Your mother, Esther, is your disgrace, and you were hers. The time will come — and soon enough — when you will understand this better and will feel it too, as no one save a woman can. I have forgiven her" — but her face did not