little boy of seven, his fair hair like a halo in the sun, his face like a flower. The woman looked a moment; her eyes softened, and she was silent.
The other woman shook her roughly. "Answer me!" she cried; "and begone from this house, or I will have you whipped out."
The woman dragged herself away from the hands that held her; she raised her arm as if to strike, but did not.
"It is my child," she whined; "my child."
"Take him away!" Lady Osborne staggered as if about to fall. "Take your brat away with you at once."
The woman grew pale, and drew back.
"No; he will live with you, and be a gentleman," she said, in a low voice.
Lady Osborne opened the French window and called the child from the garden. He ran towards her, a rose crushed in his hand.
"Frederick," she said in a hard voice, "you must go at once with this woman. Take her hand, and go away at once."
The child stood in the middle of the room, staring, till slowly he realized what had been
