So the girl who had been tempting¹ fate, who had refused to right a wrong, who had turned a deaf ear to the pleadings of friends and the commands of superiors, was now summoned to the bedside of the one person in all the world she really loved—her mother!

 

Viola grasped the message from the hands of Mrs. Pangborn herself, who thought to deliver it with as little alarm as possible. But it was not possible to deceive Viola. Instantly she burst into tears and moans with such violence that the principal was obliged to plead with the girl to regard the feelings of those whose rooms adjoined hers. But this did not affect Viola. She declared her darling little mother would be dead before she could reach her, and even blamed the school that marked the distance between the frantic² daughter and the dying parent.

 

How bitterly she moaned and sobbed³! What abandon and absolute lack of self-control she displayed, Mrs. Pangborn could not help observing. This was the character Viola had fostered, and this was the character that turned upon her in her grief and refused to offer her sympathy or hope.

 

"You should try to control yourself, Viola," said Mrs. Pangborn gently. "You will make yourself ill, and be unfit for travel."

 

But all arguments were without avail. The girl wept herself into hysterics, and then finally, overcome with sheer exhaustion⁴, fell into a troubled sleep.

 

On the first train the next morning Viola left Glenwood. It was Dorothy who helped her dress and pack, and Dorothy who tried to console her.

 

At one moment it did seem that Dorothy had finally reached the heart of the strange girl, for Viola threw her arms about the one who had made such sacrifices for an unrelenting pride, and begged she would pray that the sick mother might be spared.

 

"If she is only left to me a little longer," pleaded Viola, "I will try to be satisfied, and try to do what is right. Oh, I know I have done wrong," she

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