I fancied that she was unwilling to leave us together. She lingered a
few minutes, then went out. Then simple, honest Lance turned to me with
his face full of animation.

"John, did you ever see such a tender-hearted woman in all your life?
She is almost too sensitive."

My suspicions were certainties now, and my mind was more than ever
tossed and whirled in tortured doubt and dread. I shall never forget one
evening that came soon afterwards. We went to dine with a friend of
Lance's, a Squire Peyton, who lived not far away, and he was the
possessor of some very fine pictures, of which he was very proud. He
took us through his pretty arranged gallery.

"This is my last purchase," he said.

We all three stopped to look at a large square picture representing the
mother of the little Moses placing his cradle of rushes amongst the tall
reeds in the water.

I saw Mrs. Fleming look at it with eyes that were wet with tears.

"Does it sadden you?" asked Lance. "It need not; the little one looks
young and tender to be left alone, but the water is silent and the
mother is near. She never left him. What a pretty story of mother-love
it is."

The beautiful face paled, the lips trembled slightly.