"Of course; why not, darling? There is no accusation against him now."
"Madeline is going away with Mrs. Ralston. Don't you think she is too bad? Can't we make her stay?"
A look of regretful sadness rests for a moment upon his countenance. Then he says, very tenderly:
"My little darling, Madeline has earned the right to her own perfect liberty. After the fierce schooling through which she has passed, believe me, there is nothing left for us to teach her. She has grown beyond us. Let her have her will, for she knows best what will give her the rest, the forgetfulness, the absorbing interest in other things, that her strong nature needs. Madeline has much to unlearn, much to forget; and she knows this. She is growing to understand her strong, brave self, to value her strength. She will never be an idler, never sink into the ranks of the commonplace. If, after a time, she finds for herself a worthy love, she will be the tenderest, the truest of wives. But she is sufficient unto herself. She has beauty, genius, force, a strong will, a splendid intellect. We shall watch her course from afar, and I am much mistaken if we do not, some day, hear great things of our Madeline."
Claire draws herself gently from the restraining arm, and turns her blue eyes upon him.
"She sinks to her knees, and leaning out, absorbs the restfulness, the peace, the white, pure glory of the dawn."—[page 456.]
"Madeline will never marry," she says softly, sadly. "You are right; she is above us, beyond us. God has made her sufficient unto herself."