me look into your eyes, and see if they
dare turn in scorn or rebukingly from mine. Sit up, girl, and let me
read your face!"

"I cannot, I cannot; my head reels--my heart aches with a pain that will
never go away;" cried the poor girl, bending forward and striving to
shut out the woman's face with both her clasped hands. "God help me; I
would rather die now!"

The woman went softly up to that excited young creature, and, placing
one hand on her forehead, pressed her gently back upon the pillow from
which she had started so wildly.

"I am your mother. Look at me--I am your mother!"

Lina lifted her feverish eyes, and looked in that face, so repulsive and
yet so beautiful, with a strained, wild gaze, that burned with a
brilliancy more terrible than fever.

"I do not know you!" she cried, dashing the woman's hands aside. "Let me
rest--I do not know you!"

"But, I am your mother."

"Well, go on and tell the whole story!" cried Lina, with insane
vehemence. "I know who my father is--he told me himself; but you,
madam--you with those strange eyes, and that proud stoop of the head,
how came you to be my mother? Don't you know that General Harrington has
a wife, and that Ralph is her son. What are you, then, and what am I?"

"I was General Harrington's slave, and you are my daughter. You need not
look at me, with those great wondering eyes. I would have broken this
more kindly, but you receive me as if I were your slave--not his. You
reject me--so be it; but my blood is in your veins, and my shame on your
forehead. You cannot shake it off; it will cling around you like a
curse, forever and ever. Now sleep if you can!"

A shrill cry broke from the poor young creature, who had fallen forward
grovelling in the bed. She struggled to get up, but her limbs were numb,
and refused to move. She flung her clasped hands wildly out, and the
prayer that she strove to utter broke forth in a sound, that bore with
it the last sane thought that she was to know for weeks.

CHAPTER LXII

THE TEMPTATION.

"Gen. Harrington wants to see you!"

A new chambermaid had been introduced into Gen. Harrington's household,
and it was this woman who addressed James Harrington as he sat in the
remote chamber which had fallen to his lot in a wing of the family
mansion.

Harrington looked up as the mulatto presented herself, startled by the
southern accent and appearance of the woman, which struck him
disagreeably; when she moved away,