own and
I will tell you exactly how my life stands." Then she related
circumstantially all that had occurred--Neil's first request for
ninety pounds at his father's death--his appropriation of that sum,
and his refusal to say what had been done with it--Christine's letter
of recent date which she now handed to her brother. Reginald read it
with emotion, and said as he handed it back to his sister: "It is a
sweet, pitiful, noble letter. Of course he answered it properly."

Then Roberta told him all the circumstances of her visit to Culraine,
and when she had finished her narration, her brother's eyes were full
of tears.

"Now, Reginald," she asked, "did I do wrong in going myself with the
money?"

"Up to the receipt of Christine's letter, you supposed it had been
paid?"

"Certainly I did, and I thought Neil's family rude and unmannerly for
never making any allusion to its payment."

"So you paid it again, resolving to fight the affair out with Neil,
when he came home. You really accepted the debt, and made it your own,
and be sure that Neil will find out a way to make you responsible for
its payment in law. In point of truth and honor, and every holy
affection, it was Neil's obligation, and every good man and woman
would cry shame on his shirking it. Roberta, you have made the supreme
mistake! You have allied yourself with a mean, dishonorable caitiff--a
creature in whose character baseness and wickedness meet; and who has
no natural affections. As I have told you before, and often, Neil
Ruleson has one idea--money. All the comforts and refinements of this
home would be instantly abandoned, if he had them to pay for. He has a
miserly nature, and only his love of himself prevents him from living
on a crust, or a few potato parings."

"Oh, Reginald, you go too far."

"I do not. When a man can grudge his good, loving mother on her
death-bed anything, or all that he has, he is no longer fit for human
companionship. He should go to a cave, or a garret, and live alone.
What are you going to do? My dear, dear sister, what are you going to
do?"

"What you advise, Reginald. For this reason I sent for you."

"Then listen. I knew a crisis of some kind must soon come between you
and that--creature, and this is what I say--you must leave him. Every
day you stay with him insults your humanity, and your womanhood. He
says he will be four or five days away, we will have plenty of time
for my plan. Before noon I will have he