We must not be hopeless yet.

You see," and making Hilary kneel down before her, she took her by both hands, as if to impart something of her own quietness to this poor heart, struggling as young, honest, upright hearts do struggle with something which their whole nature revolts against, and loathes, and scorns--"you see, the boy is our boy; our own flesh and blood.

We were very foolish to let him away from us for so long.

We might have made him better if we had kept him at Stowbury.

But he is young; that is my hope of him; and he was always fond of his aunts, and is still, I think." Hilary smiled sadly.