At that piercing cry of unutterable reproach, the dying woman held up her supplicating hands.
"It was because I loved you a thousand times better than myself—better than my revenge. Forgive me, Mollie—forgive me!"
"You are my mother, and you are dying," Mollie said, solemnly, bending down and kissing her. "I forgive you everything. But I will never set foot under Carl Walraven's roof again."
CHAPTER XXVII.
DEAD AND BURIED.
The twilight was falling without—the last silvery radiance of the dying day streamed through the dirty, broken attic window, and lighted, as with a pale glory, Mollie's drooping head and earnest, saddened face.
Miriam had fallen back upon the pillow, exhausted, panting, laboring for breath.
There was a long pause; then Mollie lifted her bowed head and drew closer to the dying woman.
"Finish your story," she said, softly, sadly.