for her.

And yet--there was Kenilworth, and Scott's house?
Scott, who had been her friend and leader since she was
eight years old! And in that anthem at York minster
there was a message, which she had been waiting all of
her life to hear! And here was Lucy beside her with her
soft voice, and loving blue eyes--Lucy, who should have
been George's wife! In all of these things something
high and good called to the poor lady, which she heard
and understood as a child would the voice of its mother.

One hour she resolved to leave her son with his wife, to
go back to Weir at once and work with the poultry and
Quigg's jokes for the rest of her life. She was dead.
Let her give up and consent to be dead.

The next, she would stay where she could see George
sometimes, and try to forgive the woman who had him in
her keeping. Perhaps, after all, she was human, as Clara
said. If she could forgive Lisa, she could be happy with
these young people and live--live in this wonderful old
world, where all that was best of past ages was kept
waiting for her.

When they came to London, she went at once to
Morgan's to make a deposit, for she had been hard at work
on her jokes as she travelled, and had received her pay.

"Your son, madam," said the clerk, "drew on his account