"And what life, Daisy, do you now
propose to yourself?"

"Just to go away somewhere with my
child. Just to live always for my child."

The words, even to herself, had an
inexpressibly dreary ring in them, though they
were spoken in a soft and tender voice.

"And you think you are fit for that,
poor Daisy?" No answer. "And though
the child may be enough for you, are you
enough for the child?"

"God helping me, I hope to be so," she
said, very humbly.

"Daisy," and there was a choking in his
voice, "I can't bear it. Get up, dear, and
come with me. Come in-doors, to some
place where we can talk quietly. There is
much to be spoken between us, and the
evening is chill."

He held his hands to her and lifted her
up. They passed together into the house,
and into the little parlour. A bright wood-
fire burned cheerily, and the tea was set
ready. Daisy wondered where the child
was; but she tried to put him out of her
thoughts, and to fix her whole attention
upon Mr. Stewart, and what he had to say.
For all else there would be time afterwards,
when she had parted from Kenneth for
ever. It was already just so dusk in-doors
that she could not see the expression of Mr.
Stewart's face, which was turned from the
light. And for so long he did not speak!
She bore this silence while she could, then,
when she could no longer bear it, with the
words, "Kenneth, Kenneth, can't you
forgive me? can't you?" she slipped to the
ground, a second time, at his feet; this
time she wound her arms about them,
and laid her face upon them. She was
soon caught up and replaced upon the little
sofa.

"Forgive me, if I seem cold and hard,"
he said. "All this is a great shock to me,
Daisy, a great shock. For the time I
seem to have lost both you and myself."
And then, forgetting he had already put
this question, he asked, "And what is it,
Daisy, that you now propose to do?"

"To go away somewhere— to some place
where nobody knows me with my child."

"That is much easier said than done,
Daisy. And, Daisy, it is not the right
thing to do. You don't wish to throw
suspicion on your son's birth? To injure
his prospects in life, if he should live, and
grow to manhood?"

"What is it you mean, Kenneth?" she
questioned, with anxious humility.

"I mean that by living under false colours
as you have, and by keeping your marriage
a secret as you have, an amount of harm
both to yourself and to your child, that it
will be difficult to undo, has been done.
You don't understand to what you would
expose yourself, and the injury you would
be doing your child, if you persevered in
an at all similar course of conduct."

Daisy pondered, with the hot colour
coming and going on her cheek.

"If he lives and grows up, you would
wish him to be a gentleman among gentlemen,
to take the position his birth entitles
him to?"

Daisy shuddered, but answered: "Of
course I would not wish to injure my own
child. What must I do, Kenneth? You
will advise me. You know, only too well,
how foolish I am."

"Too foolish to take care even of yourself,
Daisy, and yet you would undertake
the sole charge of a child who may grow
to be a man."

Daisy's attention wandered from the
subject in hand. "Why, Kenneth, do you
speak so doubtfully about my child's living
and growing up?"

"Isn't a child's living and growing up
always a matter for doubt?"

A moment's pause, then Daisy answered
what he had said before. "There are
many foolish mothers, Kenneth, whose
children take no harm. I suppose God
helps them! Don't tell me I must not
have my child. I am not wise and good,
I know, but I love it, and it has no one
else."

"Having to choose between us, you
choose the child. You say you loved me,
and yet, after a few kisses given to this
child, after a few hours, during which it
has been in your arms, having to choose
between us, you choose the child."

"Kenneth, don't torture me. You know
there is no choice. Don't tear my life in
two, trying to make me believe there is a
choice."

"Your heart still clings to me a little
then, Daisy?"

"For the first time since I've known you,
you're cruel! and its a cruel time to be
cruel. Even if my child did not need me,
what could I now be to you? But my child
does need me. I choose my child. I must
go away with it. I will hide myself with
it."

"There must be no hiding, Daisy. Everything
must be open and in the face of day.
I've told you why this must be. You
must take your husband's name at once,
for the sake of your husband's son."

"To call him that, my husband's son!