r mother. The
announcement excited very contradictory emotions.

"Do you mean to imply that he is coming again as the guest of your
parents, as the inmate of this home?" asked Mr. Gleason, sternly.

"Yes, sir," replied Louis, a red streak flashing across his face. "How
could it be otherwise?"

"But it _shall_ be otherwise," exclaimed Mr. Gleason, rising abruptly
from his chair, and speaking with a vehemence so unwonted that it
inspired awe. "That young man shall never again, with my consent, sit
down at my board, or sleep under my roof. I believe him a false,
unprincipled, dangerous companion--whom my doors shall never more be
opened to receive. Had it not been for him, that pale, stone-like,
petrified girl, might have been brilliant and blooming, yet. Had it not
been for him, I should not have the anguish, the humiliation, the shame
of seeing my son, my only son, the darling of his dead mother's heart,
the pride and hope of mine, a blighted being, shorn of the brightness of
youth, and the glory of advancing manhood. Talk not to me of bringing
the destroyer here. This fireside shall never more be darkened by his
presence."

Mr. Gleason paused, but from his eye, fixed steadfastly on Louis, the
long sleeping lightning darted. Mittie, who had sprung from her chair
while her father was speaking, stood with white cheeks and parted lips,
and eyes from which fire seemed to coruscate, gazing first at him, and
then at her brother.

"Father," cried Louis, "you wrong him. My sins and transgressions are my
own. Mountain high as they are, they shall not crush another. Mine is
the sorrow and guilt, and mine be the penalty. I do not extenuate my own
offences, but I will not criminate others. I beseech you, sir, to recall
what you have just uttered, for how can I close those doors upon a
friend, which have so lately been opened for him with ungrudging
hospitality?"

Mittie's countenance lighted up with an indescribable expression. She
caught her brother's hand, and pressing it in both hers, exclaimed--

"Nobly said, Louis. He who can hear an absent friend defamed, without
defending him, is worthy of everlasting scorn."

But Helen, terrified at the outburst of her father's anger, and
overwhelmed with grief for her brother's humiliation, bowed her head and
wept in silence.

Mr. Gleason turned his eyes, where the lightning still gleamed, from
Louis to Mittie, as if trying to read her inscrutable countenance.

"Tell me, Mittie