Margaret--good and obedient, though a little sentimental and
foolish in some ways. You are like our mother--she was always
weak and loving. I took after the Merediths."

She did, indeed. Even in her coffin her dark, handsome features
preserved their expression of pride and determination. Somehow,
that last look of her dead face remained in my memory, blotting
out the real affection and gentleness which her living face had
almost always shown me. This distressed me, but I could not help
it. I wished to think of her as kind and loving, but I could
remember only the pride and coldness with which she had crushed
out my new-born happiness. Yet I felt no anger or resentment
towards her for what she had done. I knew she had meant it for
the best--my best. It was only that she was mistaken.

And then, a month after she had died, Hugh Blair came to me and
asked me to be his wife. He said he had always loved me, and
could never love any other woman.

All my old love for him reawakened. I wanted to say yes--to feel
his strong arms about me, and the warmth of his love enfolding
and guarding me. In my weakness I yearned for his strength.

But there was my promise to Hester--that promise give by her
deathbed. I could not break it, and I told him so. It was the
hardest thing I had ever done.

He did not go away quietly this time. He pleaded and reasoned
and reproached. Every word of his hurt me like a knife-thrust.
But I could not break my promise to the dead. If Hester had been