go--on?"

And then Travers clenched his hands and had his say.

In that moment his own mother rose clear and radiant beside him and made
her appeal. She pleaded for justice, but she showed mercy. He must not
forget or forego anything that had been gained for him; but he was her
child, the child of her love--unasking, unfettered love--and the passion
that was throbbing in him was pure and instinctive; he must not deny it
or the rest would be shucks! Non-essentials must not hamper him. Alone,
unsought, a strange and compelling force had made him captive. All that
others, and himself, had achieved for him must make holy this simple but
all-powerful desire.

Then she faded, that poor, little, half-forgotten mother! But she left,
like the fragrance of rare flowers that had been taken from the dim,
moon-lighted room, a memory of happiness and sweetness and content.




CHAPTER XXI


By all the deductions of experience the three people in the little inn
should have, in the light of the morning after, been reduced to common
sense; but the day laughed common sense to scorn and fanned the fires of
the previous evening to bright flame.

"I must write a letter," announced Margaret after breakfast, "a letter so