witched with
impatience.

"What sort of friends am I likely to have?" he said. "Why not those that
amuse me most?"

Then he rose and went over to the window, where he stood for some time
looking out. Turning round at last, he perceived from a slight familiar
movement of his mother's hand over her eyes that she was weeping, and it
seemed as if his heart smote him at the sight.

"Come, mother," he said, kindly, "don't take what I say and do so much
to heart. You know I'm no good, and never shall do anything in the
world. You have Cuthbert to comfort you--"

"Cuthbert is nothing to me--_nothing_--compared with you, Wyvis."

The young man came to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. The
passionate tone had touched him.

"Poor mother!" he said, softly. "You've suffered a good deal through me,
haven't you? I wish I could make you forget all the past--but perhaps
you wouldn't thank me if I could."

"No," she said, leaning forward so as to rest her forehead against his
arm. "No. For there has been brightness in the past, but I see little
brightness in the future either for you or for me."

"Well, that is my own fault," said Wyvis, lightly but bitterly. "If it
had not been for my own youthful folly I shouldn't be burdened as I am
now. I have no one but myself to thank."

"Yes, yes, it was my fault. I pressed you to do it--to tie yourself for
life to the woman who has made you miserable!" said Mrs. Brand, in a
tone of despairing self-accusation. "I fancied--then--that we were doing
right."

"I suppose we were doing right," said Wyvis Brand sternly, but not as if
the thought gave him any consolation. "It was better perhaps that I
should marry the woman whom I thought I loved--instead of leaving her or
wronging her--but I wish to God that I had never seen her face!"

"And to think that I persuaded you into marrying her," moaned the
mother, rocking herself backward and forward in the extremity of her
regretful anguish; "I--who ought to have been wiser--who might have
interfered----"

"You couldn't have interfered to much purpose. I was mad about her at
the time," said her son, beginning to walk about the room in a restless,
aimless manner. "I wish, mother, that you would cease to talk about the
past. It seems to me sometimes like a dream; if you would but let it lie
still, I think that I could fancy it was a dream. Remember that I do not
blame you. When I rage against the bond, I am perfectly well aware that
it