nestling in hers, she told her what Squire had heard. Mrs. Marsden was not
especially startled. She had suffered so much it seemed to her sometimes
that her feelings were numb.

"Aren't you going in town to see him, Mamma?" the child asked.

"Me! Oh, no; I couldn't. You don't know what you ask, darling." Tears
gathered in the beautiful sad eyes.

"Then, may I go, Mamma? May I? Squire will take good care of me."

The mother-arms tightened around the childish form. An unwonted jealousy
sprung up in the mother-heart. Hitherto she had had her all to herself.

"Would you leave me, darling," she asked, "my one comfort? Suppose he
should take you away from me, and carry you off where I could seldom see
you, what would become of me?"

The child looked up in the beautiful, agitated face with surprise.

"He would never do that. Mamma, never. In the first place, nobody on
earth _could_ take me away from my darling mamma. Then he wouldn't take me
away if he could. That would be too mean for any thing, and Squire says my
papa is a splendid gentleman."

Mrs. Marsden made no reply to this. She sat gazing dreamily into the
glowing fire. Splendid? Yes, that was what she thought him before the hard
feeling came between them. She recalled his eyes, glowing--tender. Her
little daughter had them exactly. Those ardent glances had so bewitched
her she could have followed them to the ends of the earth.