d always longed to
hear something of his father's early life; he had always rebelled
against the cold barrier of mystery which seemed to enshroud him and
separate him from his only son.

"Well, to begin at the beginning," said the Vicar, fixing his eyes on
one spot on the carpet, "there was a time when I was young--perhaps you
can hardly realise that," he said suddenly, looking up; "but strange as
it may seem to you, it is a fact. I once was young, and though never
so gay and light-hearted as you still I was happy in my own way, and
fool enough to expect that life had for me a store of joys and
pleasures, just as you do now. I was doomed, of course, to bitter
disappointment, just as you will be. Well, I had one trouble, and that
was the fear that I might be appointed to a curacy which would take me
away from my old home, and I was greatly relieved when I was appointed
to this living through the influence of an old friend of my father's.
When I entered upon my new duties, I found the old church filled with a
hearty and friendly congregation; but soon afterwards that Methodist
Chapel was built on the moor, and that rascal Essec Powell became its
minister, and from that day to this he has been a thorn in the flesh to
me. My father died about a year after I was ordained, and I found the
old house rather lonely with only Betto, who was then young, to look
after my domestic affairs. My farm I found a great solace. About this
time I met your mother, Agnes Powell. Her uncle and aunt had lately
come to live in the neighbourhood, accompanied by their daughter Ellen
and their niece--your mother. The two girls were said to be wealthy,
and seemed to be as much attached to each other as though they had been
sisters. I don't remember much about Ellen Vaughan's appearance, in
fact I scarcely noticed her, for I had fallen passionately in love with
Agnes Powell. Are you listening, Caradoc?"

"Yes, indeed, sir," he said breathlessly, "I have thirsted for this
knowledge so long."

"You have! well, then, listen. I loved your mother with a frantic mad
devotion, though I killed her."

Cardo started.

"Yes, I killed her; not by a cruel blow, or murderous attack, but quite
as surely and as cruelly. I told you I had not your gay and lively
disposition. I might have added that I was sensitive and suspicious to
an intense degree, and from my first acquaintance with your mother
until the day I married her, I was always restless a