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 little Ronny when—when it all happened—and when—you were taken from him. Let Ronny be where he is."

"But I want him, I want him!" she cried. "He is all I have on earth—why should I be parted from him?"

"For his own good, Fenella!"

"It is best for a child to be with his mother."

He looked at her fixedly, but very sadly and seriously.

"Do you think so," he asked slowly—"in this case?"

Then she understood. Understood, that because of the brand of Cain upon her brow, the world would not think it good for her boy to be brought up by his own mother!

Her cup of woe was indeed full. She bowed her head—the bright brown head that he would have died to serve—upon her hands, and wept aloud.

"Don't," he said, a little unsteadily; "don't give way; be brave, as you always have been, my dear. Live down this story—this stain upon your life; go to other countries, where no one will know you; make new friends, who will have heard nothing. The world is before you; leave England, and do not come back to your boy till time has covered up with its kindly mantle this wretched episode of your life. Ronny shall be well cared for. I will look after him, and write