"He
was stanch to the end to his lifelong principles."
"Why not?" the father asked, staggering. "Did he see my telegram?"
"Yes," Herminia answered, numb with grief, yet too proud to
prevaricate. "But I advised him to stand firm; and he abode by my
decision."
The father waved her aside with his hands imperiously. "Then I
have done with you," he exclaimed. "I am sorry to seem harsh to
you at such a moment. But it is your own doing. You leave me no
choice. You have no right any longer in my son's apartments."
XII.
No position in life is more terrible to face than that of the
widowed mother left alone in the world with her unborn baby. When
the child is her first one,--when, besides the natural horror and
agony of the situation, she has also to confront the unknown
dangers of that new and dreaded experience,--her plight is still
more pitiable. But when the widowed mother is one who has never
been a wife,--when in addition to all these pangs of bereavement
and fear, she has further to face the contempt and hostility of a
sneering world, as Herminia had to face it,--then, indeed, her lot
becomes well-nigh insupportable; it is almost more than human
nature can bear up against.
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