from her; bear with you the memory of her
love and of her tenderness, and of how you have repaid them. Take your
last look at me. I have loved you--I have been proud of you, hopeful
for you; now I dismiss you from my presence, unworthy son of a noble
race. The same roof will never shelter us again. Make what
arrangements you will. You have some little fortune; it must maintain
you. I will never contribute one farthing to the support of my lodge
keeper's daughter. Go where you like--do as you like. You have chosen
your own path. Some day you must return to Earlescourt as its master.
I thank Heaven it will be when the degradation of my home and the
dishonor of my race can not touch me. Go now; I shall expect you to
have quitted the Hall before tomorrow morning."

"You can not mean it, father," cried Ronald. "Send me from you punish
me--I deserve it; but let me see you again!"

"Never in life," said Lord Earle, calmly. "Remember, when you see me
lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which I
learned that you had deceived me."

"Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!"

"It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made
deliberately. I am not cruel. If you write to me I shall return your
letters unopened. I shall refuse to see or hear from you, or to allow
you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to your mother--I do
not forbid that. She can see you under any roof save mine. Now,
farewell; the sunshine, the hope, the happiness of my life go with you,
but I shall keep my word. See my solicitor, Mr. Burt, about your
money, and he will arrange everything in my place."

"Father," cried Ronald, with tears in his eyes, "say one kind word,
touch my hand once again!"

"No," said Lord Earle, turning from the outstretched hand; "that is not
the hand of an honorable man; I can not hold it in my own."

Then Ronald bent down to kiss his mother; her face was white and still;
she was not conscious of his tears or his passionate pleading. Lord
Earle raised her face. "Go," said he, calmly; "do not let your mother
find you here when she recovers."

He never forgot the pleading of those sorrowful eyes, the anguish of
the brave young face, as Ronald turned from him and left the room.

When Lady Earle awoke to consciousness of her misery, her son had left
her. No one would have called Lord Earle hard or stern who saw him
clasp his weeping wife in his arms, and co