<h3>IN CONCLUSION</h3>
<p>Time, the great healer of all sufferings, all sorrows,
can do much, but memory clings with a pertinacity
which defies all Time’s best efforts. Time may
soften the poignancy of deep-rooted sorrow, but it
cannot shut out altogether the pain of a mother’s
grief at the loss of an only son. In spite of all
Hervey’s crimes he was “the only son of his mother,
and she was a widow.” The story of his villainies
was rigidly kept from her, and so she thought of him
only as a prodigal, as a boy to be pitied, as one whose
offences must be condoned; she sought for his good
points, and, in her sweet motherly heart, saw a
wonderful deal in him on which to centre her loving
memory, which, had he lived, even she could never
have discovered. It is something that erring man has
to be humbly grateful for, that women are like this;
so full of the patient, enduring love which can see no
wrong in the object of their affections.</p>
<p>But Loon Dyke Farm became intolerable to Hephzibah
Malling after the ghastly tragedy of her son’s
death; and when Robb and Alice saw fit to marry,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_342' name='page_342'></SPAN>342</span>
urged on to that risky experiment by the two older
ladies, she insisted upon leasing the place to them on
ridiculously easy terms. She would have given it to
them only for their steady refusal to accept such a
magnificent wedding gift from her.</p>
<p>The old lady was rich enough for her needs and
her daughter’s, and, business woman as she was, she
was generous to a fault where her affections were concerned.
Prudence too was satisfied with any arrangement
which would take her away from the farm.
Knowing what she knew of her brother, Loon Dyke
could never again be her home. So mother and
daughter retired to Ainsley, and only once again did
they return to their old home on the briefest of visits,
and that was to assist at the function of christening
the son and heir of the Chillingwoods.</p>
<p>Later on Prudence induced her mother to make
Winnipeg her home, but though, for her daughter’s
sake, she acceded to the request, she was never quite
at ease among her new surroundings. Nor was Sarah
Gurridge, when she visited her old friend during her
holidays, slow to observe this. “My dear,” she told
Alice, one day after her summer vacation, “Hephzibah
is failing fast. She’s quite old, although she is
my junior by two years and three months. An idle
life doesn’t suit her; and as for Prudence, she wears
fine clothes, and goes out in society all day and most
of the night, but she’s that thin and melancholy that
you wouldn’t know her for the same child. It’s my
opinion that she’s pining––they are both pining. I
found a letter from Hamilton when I got back home.
It was from George Iredale, and I’m going to answer
it at once.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_343' name='page_343'></SPAN>343</span></div>
<p>“And what are you going to say in your reply?”
laughed Alice. “I know your matchmaking propensity.
So does Robb.”</p>
<p>The quiet, dreamy face of the old school-mistress
smiled over at the happy mother.</p>
<p>“Say?” she exclaimed. “I’m going to give
George a piece of my mind for staying away so long.
I know why he’s doing so, and my belief as to the
cause of his absence is different from what Prudence
is beginning to imagine. She thinks he has left her
because of her brother’s doings, and it’s that that’s
driving her to an early grave. I shall certainly tell
George what I think.” And Sarah wagged her head
sagely.</p>
<p>And she was as good as her word. She had not
seen fit to tell Alice that she had been in constant
communication with George Iredale ever since the
day of the tragedy, or that she was in his confidence
as regarded Prudence. George had left the district
to give both Prudence and her mother time to recover
from the shock. And now that a year or more had
passed away, he had written appealing to Sarah to
tell him if she thought the time auspicious for his
return.</p>
<p>In a long, carefully-worded letter Sarah advised
him not to delay.</p>
<p>“By dint of much perseverance,” she wrote, “I have
persuaded the child out of her absurd notions about
the reflections her brother’s doings have cast upon
her. She looks at things from a healthier standpoint
now. Why should she not marry? What has she
done to debar her from fulfilling the mission which
is appointed for every woman? Nothing! And I
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_344' name='page_344'></SPAN>344</span>
am sure if a certain man should return and renew the
appeal which he made at the time when the Lord’s
anger was visited upon her brother, she would give
him a different reply. However, I must not waste all
my space upon the silly notions of a child with a
misdirected conscience.”</p>
<p>And how her letter bore fruit, and how George
Iredale returned and sought Prudence in the midst
of the distractions of Winnipeg’s social whirl, and
how the girl’s answer, when again he appealed to her,
turned out to be the one Sarah had prophesied for
him, were matters of great satisfaction to the sage old
school-mistress.</p>
<p>She assisted at the wedding which followed, she
saw the bride and bridegroom off at the railway depôt,
she remained to console her old friend for the loss of
her daughter. Then she hied her off once more, back
to the bleak, staring school-house, where she continued
to propound sage maxims for the young of the district
until her allotted task was done, and the tally
of her years complete.</p>
<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p>
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