I was grounded for the last two weeks. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. B. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself.
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