er face.

"Then, Wilfred, for your own sake, if not for mine, learn to love, to
forgive. Naught but misery can come from sin, I know it too, too well."

"I care not," he answered. "There was only one that I ever really
loved, and that love you cankered. But I did love her, more than aught
else, and she has been taken from me, and he has done it. With her by
my side I could have forgiven you, I could have learned to forget my
greed; but now it can never be, and although I believe that I have at
last made her hate Roger, she still despises me. And now what have I
left to live for? Nothing but this; I will be a curse to him. Roger
says he believes that the old stories about our house are false, but
strange things have happened, and they say that the younger brother can
curse the elder. I know what Deborah Teague said; but I repeat it, if
I cannot curse him I will curse his children and his children's
children. If ever I wed and have children I will teach them to hate
all that is near and dear to him. You told me to do so this very
night, and although you have suddenly changed your wishes, I will abide
by your command."

"Oh, God," my mother cried out in agony, "my punishment is greater than
I can bear. My own son, for whom I have sacrificed everything, has
discarded me, spurned me. My daughters have left me, no one loves me
now."

No man with any manhood left in him could have refrained from pitying
her, so helpless, so forsaken. My heart was strangely stirred within
me, and tears started to my eyes.

"Mother," I said, "I love you, will you let me be your son?"

"You, Roger! Why I have always been your enemy, it is I who has caused
you all your misery and pain. You cannot really love me?"

How fondly she looked at Wilfred even yet, as though she hoped for some
tender word or look, but he only walked up and down the room, muttering
savagely, yet casting furtive looks towards us.

"I cannot love you as I love Wilfred," she said; "he has discarded me,
but I shall love him as long as I live. I am a poor, weak, selfish
woman, but I want your love, Roger, and your care; if you can forgive
me, and love me."

I laid her poor, weary, aching head upon my breast, where she seemed to
find ease in sobbing out her grief.

No sooner did Wilfred see this than, with a mocking laugh, he walked
out of the room, leaving us together.

"Will you kiss me, Roger, my son?" she said, presently.

I kissed her, while th