He has disgraced it, by his own
confession.
MRS. HAVERILL. _I_ cannot forget the poor mother who died when he was
born; her whose place I have tried to fill, to both Frank and to you.
I never saw her, and she is sleeping in the old graveyard at home. But
I am doing what she would do to-day, if she were living. No pride--no
disgrace--could have turned her face from him. The care and the love
of her son has been to me the most sacred duty which one woman can
assume for another.
HAVERILL. You have fulfilled that duty, Constance. Go to my son! I
would go with you, but he is a man now; he could not look into my
eyes, and I could not trust myself. But I will send him something
which a man will understand. Frank loves you as if you were his own
mother; and I--I would like him to--to think tenderly of me, also. He
will do it when he looks at this picture. [_Taking a miniature from
his pocket._
MRS. HAVERILL. Of me!
HAVERILL. I have never been without it one hour, before, since we were
married. He will recognize it as the one that I have carried through
every campaign, in every scene of danger on the Plains; the one that
has always been with me.
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