The three last named stood by the bed; the aunts austere, the transgressor softly sobbing.

The mother turned her head on the pillow; her tired eyes flamed up instantly with sympathy and passionate mother-love when they fell upon her child, and she opened the refuge and shelter of her arms.
"Wait!" said Aunt Hannah, and put out her hand and stayed the girl from leaping into them.
"Helen," said the other aunt, impressively, "tell your mother all.

Purge your soul; leave nothing unconfessed." Standing stricken and forlorn before her judges, the young girl mourned her sorrowful tale through the end, then in a passion of appeal cried out: "Oh, mother, can't you forgive me?
won't you forgive me ?--I am so desolate!" "Forgive you, my darling?
Oh, come to my arms!--there, lay your head upon my breast, and be at peace.

If you had told a thousand lies--" There was a sound--a warning--the clearing of a throat.

The aunts glanced up, and withered in their clothes--there stood the doctor, his face a thunder-cloud.