She waited for Doris to speak, but still the girl was unable to articulate a word. She was fastening her hat now, and putting the last touches to her veil and gloves; in a moment or two she would be able to escape into the open air, and into the night, now fast coming on.
"It is to his chivalry, doubtless, that you are trusting, to his generosity, his love, his charity, his magnanimity. By his virtues you would slay him, that is, I mean, debase him in the eyes of the world--the world we live in," continued the upbraiding voice.
Then Doris, stung beyond endurance and driven to bay, made answer, confronting Mrs. Cameron proudly, with her little head held high:
"You may keep your son. I will never marry him. He is nothing to me now--nothing."
"I can tell him that?"
"Tell him," cried Doris passionately, "tell him that I would not marry the son of such a mother for any consideration in the world! Tell him that I would rather die." She felt at that moment as if she would, for the woman's cruel words had dragged her heart far from its moorings.
The next moment Mrs. Cameron was alone, standing in the middle of the room, where she had so brow-beaten and insulted the innocent daughter of that unhappy house, listening to Doris's retreating footsteps on the stairs and in the hall, and then the gentle closing of the outer door.
CHAPTER V.
BERNARD SEARCHES FOR DORIS.
Life is so sad a thing, its measure
Brims over full with human tears;
A blighted hope, a buried treasure,
Infinite pain, delusive pleasure,
Make sorrowful our years.
* * * * *
Heaven is so near, oh friend, 'tis yonder,
God's word doth clear the uncertain way;
His hand will bear thee, lest thou wander,
His Spirit teach thee thoughts to ponder
Till thou hast found the day.
LOLA MARSHALL DEANE.