destroyed; nor did she know that she, being the last of the race, and in
her name representing them all, was hated most of all.

Starr Delevan Endicott! It was graven upon her tiny pins and locket, upon
the circlet of gold that jewelled her finger, upon her brushes and combs;
it was broidered upon her dainty garments, and coverlets and cushions, and
crooned to her by the adoring Scotch nurse who came of a line that knew and
loved an aristocracy. The pride of the house of Starr, the wealth of the
house of Delevan, the glory of the house of Endicott, were they not all
hers, this one beautiful baby who lay in her arms to tend and to love. So
mused Morton as she hummed:

"O hush thee my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a ladie, both gentle and bright--"

And what cared Morton that the mother in this case was neither gentle nor
bright, but only beautiful and selfish? It did but make the child the
dearer that she had her love to herself.

And so the little Starr lay sleeping in her crib, and the boy, her
preserver, from nobody knew where, and of nobody knew what name or fame,
lay sleeping also. And presently Delevan Endicott himself came to look at
them both.

He came from the swirl of the sinful turbulent world outside, and from his
fretting, petted wife's bedside. She had been fretting at him for allowing
a bank in which he happened to be president to do anything which should
cause such a disturbance outside her home, when he knew she was so nervous.
Not one word about the little step that had stood for an instant between
her baby and eternity. Her husband reminded her gently how near their baby