shoulder.

She cowered beneath the pressure.

"It is wrong--I know it," she said, clasping her hands and dropping
them heavily before her, as if weighed down by a sense of her utter
unworthiness. "But oh, father, what shall I do! what _shall_ I do!"

"Honor your mother!"

"How can I honor her, when she degrades and abuses us all!"

"God does not make you the judge of your parents, but commands you
unconditionally to honor them."

Mary dropped her eyes and stooped more humble downward. She saw now
why the darkness had hung so long over her prayers. Filled with
unforgiving bitterness against her mother she had asked God to forgive
her, scarcely deeming her fault one to be repented of. A brief
struggle against the memory of bitter ill-usage and fierce wrong
inflicted by her mother, and Mary drew a deep free breath. Her eyes
filled, and meekly folding her hands she held them toward her father.

"What shall I do, father?"

He drew her toward him, and a look of holy faith lay upon his face.

"Listen to me, Mary; God may yet help you to save this woman, your
mother and my wife; for next to God I always loved her."