"You must not say that. You must live to let me repay you for all you have done for me, and we will be happy--"

She moved her head from side to side in dissent. "Oh, you do not know, but I did it for love's sake. I could not live without my child."

"Suppose we get her undressed, she will feel more comfortable. She has not looked well for the last week or two. Mrs. Barrington was speaking about it, but she is such a quiet body."

Lilian opened the bed. She was girlishly glad her mother's night dress was neat and lace trimmed, fit to go to her new home. So they soon had her easier and restful.

"I should like a cup of tea," she said, weakly.

"I'll get it," and Miss Arran left the room.

"Dear mother," and Lilian patted the hands that were thin and cold.

"Oh, love me a little to the end, I've loved you so much. Whatever comes you will know I did it for love's sake, and you must forgive."

"There can be nothing to forgive. You have worked for me early and late.

You must live and let me repay you, make you happy. If I have failed in the past I will try with all my soul and strength in the future. Think, every year brings us nearer the home I shall make for you. Oh, do not talk of dying!"

"You don't know. I did not think of the wrong then. You were a motherless babe, then, and I was a childless mother. For you must know, you must have felt in your inmost soul that I was not your true mother."

Lilian raised her head in the wildest dismay, and though she stared at Miss Arran she did not seem to see her. Many a time like a lightning flash the thought had swept over her, but it seemed awful to have it put in words, to have the certainty pierce through her like a sharp sword.

"Oh, mother, you do not know what you are saying. It is some wretched, horrid dream! You have been too much alone. You have brooded over this thought of our differences. Children and parents are often unlike. At all events I have never known any other mother. You must live and let me prove a true daughter."

"I did not think there could be any wrong then. If you were cast on the world friendless, why should I not fill my aching heart with baby love.

Yes, you did love me then, you clung to me. I never thought of there being someone else--a father, perhaps--oh, heaven help us both!"

She had raised herself soon after she began to talk; now she fell back on the pillow fainting. Lilian was sobbing. Miss Arran came to her relief.

"I think we must have a physician. I will see Mrs. Barrington."

The faint was of short duration. Miss Arran was strangely mystified. Was Mrs. Boyd's talk an hallucination or some secret kept for years that must needs make its way out at last? Had she any right to repeat it on mere suspicion?

Mrs. Barrington sent for Dr. Kendricks at once. Then she went to Mrs.

Boyd's room. How very frail she looked.

"My poor child," the lady said, "this is very hard for you, and I think you did not come in to dinner. Suppose you go down stairs for awhile?"

"Oh, no, I must stay here. Poor mother--"

"Lilian," murmured the feeble voice and the thin hand wandered out as if for a clasp.

She took it, pressed it to her lips, her firm, warm cheek. Should she pray for life? Would not G.o.d send what was best? Oh, that she might have strength to accept it. She raised her eyes to Mrs. Barrington in entreaty. Oh, who was she so like at that moment?

The doctor was announced. Miss Arran sat by the bedside. There was a lamp on the table and he asked that it might be lighted, making a close survey of the patient.

"Was there any shock? Her vitality is at a very low ebb. When was the first unconscious spell?"

"I was out," began Lilian, tremulously. "She insisted that I should go and seemed to want to be alone. I staid longer than I meant, and found her fallen to the floor--"

Mrs. Boyd raised to a partly sitting posture and looked up with feverish eagerness.

"I went to put something in the chiffonier--you will find it, Lilian, in a box and the key is--oh, what did I do with it?"

"Never mind, dear," in a soft tone.

"But _you_ must mind, and then I turned--it was my leg. It is heavy and I can't raise it, but the ache is all gone."

Dr. Kendricks turned down the blanket and examined the limb, nodding as if convinced.

"Oh," she cried, "is it paralysis? Then it will not be long. My mother had two strokes a week apart, her mother never rallied from the first.

I'm tired--worn out, and Lilian will be better off without me. She may find--I have written it all out--it's there in the drawer--"

"Oh mother!" Lilian kissed her and put her back on the pillow where she gave a gasping sigh.

Dr. Kendricks beckoned Mrs. Barrington out of the room.

"She is in a very low condition and I doubt if she survives more than a few days. What about the girl--_is_ it her daughter?"

"Why, yes--though they are very dissimilar; but she is a devoted daughter. The mother is caretaker, the daughter a student."

"She seems to have exhausted nature. The fainting spells may be a method of rest. Let her sleep all she can. Very little can be done for her. I will leave some drops to be given if she is very restless and will look in in the morning. It is rather unfortunate this should happen to you, just now."

"Oh, school has closed and there is plenty of help. I want everything done for her."

Then Mrs. Barrington returned to the room. Miss Arran sat by the foot of the bed, Lilian was bathing her mother's face.

"My child," Mrs. Barrington said, "you had better lie down and get a little rest. We will watch--"

"No, I want Lilian," entreated the mother. "You will not leave me? When I am a little rested I want to tell you how it came--"

"Yes, yes, but not now. I would rather stay here. It is my place, and now there are no other duties."

So the hours wore on. Mrs. Boyd seemed to fall into a tranquil sleep.

Lilian laid down on her own bed, and slept in a disturbed sort of fashion. Then morning came, and the house was astir.

"Oh, Miss Arran have you watched all night? How good you are!"

"I had several naps. Your mother was very quiet. She seems better. Mrs.

Dane is coming in and you must get some breakfast. Then if we need a nurse--"

"Oh, no, do not have one. My place is here. Oh, Miss Arran," and Lilian turned deadly pale, "you heard what she said last evening. It _can't_ be true. Would any one ever work and make sacrifices for a child not her own? She _is_ my mother."

Miss Arran nodded. "Unless she is much worse I do not think we will need a nurse. There will be so little to do in the house that I shall be quite at liberty."

"Yes, Mrs. Boyd was much stronger," the doctor admitted, though the case was not much more hopeful. A second stroke might end it all. "But she seems to have something on her mind. Is it anxiety about her daughter?"

"I have a.s.sured her that Lilian will be my charge. She has the making of an unusually fine scholar, and she is a high minded, honorable girl, sincere and ambitious."