Granny, will your dog bite? No, chile, no!"
The mother shivered and drew Marion closer.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! has it come to this—all my hopes of your beautiful life!"
The girl lifted her head and kissed the quivering lips.
"With what loving wonder we saw you grow," she sighed, "from a tottering babe on to the hour we watched the mystic light of maidenhood dawn in your blue eyes—and all to end in this hideous, leprous shame!—No!—No! I will not have it! It's only a horrible dream! God is not dead!"
The young mother sank to her knees and buried her face in Marion's lap in a hopeless paroxysm of grief.
The girl bent, kissed the curling hair and smoothed it with her soft hand.
A sparrow chirped in the tree above, a wren twittered in a bush, and down on the river's brink a mocking-bird softly waked his mate with a note of thrilling sweetness.
"The morning is coming, dearest; we must go," said Marion. "This shame I can never forget, nor will the world forget. Death is the only way."
They walked to the brink, and the mother's arms stole round the girl.
"Oh, my baby, my beautiful darling, life of my life, heart of my heart, soul of my soul!"
They stood for a moment, as if listening to the music of the falls, looking out over the valley faintly outlining itself in the dawn. The first far-away streaks of blue light on the mountain ranges, defining distance, slowly
