"
XXIII.
When she returned from Sir Anthony's to her mother's lodgings, she
found Herminia, very pale, in the sitting-room, waiting for her.
Her eyes were fixed on a cherished autotype of a Pinturicchia at
Perugia,--Alan's favorite picture. Out of her penury she had
bought it. It represented the Madonna bending in worship over her
divine child, and bore the inscription: "Quem genuit adoravit."
Herminia loved that group. To her it was no mere emblem of a dying
creed, but a type of the eternal religion of maternity. The Mother
adoring the Child! 'Twas herself and Dolly.
"Well?" Herminia said interrogatively, as her daughter entered, for
she half feared the worst.
"Well," Dolores answered in a defiant tone, blurting it out in
sudden jerks, the rebellion of a lifetime finding vent at last.
"I've been to my grandfather, my father's father; and I've told him
everything; and it's all arranged: and I'm to take his name; and
I'm to go and live with him."
"Dolly!" the mother cried, and fell forward on the table with her
face in her hands.
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