ather, because you dare not do so; because, had you told her, she
had never become your wife."

Paul laughed vacantly.

"We shall see. My own lips are sealed, but yours are free. You shall
tarnish the memory of our father and blacken the honor of our mother.
You shall humble me, and rob me of my wife's love--if you will and
can."

Saying this, Paul stepped hastily to the door, flung it open, and cried:
"Greta! Greta!"

Hugh followed him and caught him arm.

"What are you doing?" he said, in a hoarse whisper; "be quiet, I tell
you--be quiet."

Paul turned about.

"You say I am afraid to tell her. You charge me with trapping her into
marrying me. You shall tell her yourself, now, here, and before my very
face!"

"Come in and shut the door," said Hugh.

"It would do no good, and perhaps some harm. No matter, you shall tell
her. I challenge you to tell her."

"Come in, and listen to me," said Hugh, sullenly; and putting himself
between Paul and the door, he closed it. "There is more to think of than
what Greta may feel," he added. "Have you nothing to say to me?"

Paul's impetuous passion cooled suddenly.

"I have made you atonement," he said, faintly, and dropped into a seat.

"Atonement!"

Hugh Ritson smiled bitterly.

"When you return you will see," said Paid, his eyes once more on the
ground.

"You are thinking of the deed of attorney--I have heard of it already,"
said Hugh. A cold smile played on his compressed lips.

"It was all that was left to do," said Paul, his voice hardly stronger
than a whisper. His proud spirit was humbled, and his challenge dead.

"Paul, you have robbed me of my inheritance, consciously, deliberately.
You have stood in my place. You stand there still. And you leave me your
pitiful deed by way of amends!"

A black frown crossed Hugh Ritson's face.

"Atonement! Are you not ashamed of such mockery? What atonement is there
for a wrong like that?"

"I did it for the best; God knows I did!" said Paul, his head fell on
the table.

Hugh Ritson stood over him, pale with suppressed wrath.

"Was it best to hold my place until my place was no longer worth
holding, and then to leave it with an empty show of generosity? Power of
attorney! What right have you to expect that I will take that from you?
Take my own from the man who robbed me of it, and to receive it back on
my knees! To accept it as a gift, whereof the generosity of giving is
yours, and the humility of receiving