mes another thought
crossed his mind and gave him exquisite torture, though he repelled it
instantly: "Could it possibly be that his modest and dignified wife
was in love with this stripling, who was of an age suitable for her
daughter?" Whatever this mysterious cloud might be that cast its cold
shadow across the sunshine of his home, he felt that he could not
endure its presence. He resolved to seek an explanation with his
wife, and to propose an immediate return to Europe, if either of his
conjectures should prove true. Returning from a solitary walk, during
which these ideas had been revolving in his mind, he found her in
their chamber kneeling by the bedside, sobbing violently. With the
utmost tenderness he inquired what had grieved her.

She answered with a wild exclamation, "O Alfred, this _must_ be
stopped!"

"_What_ must be stopped, my dear?" said he.

"Gerald Fitzgerald _must_ not court our daughter," she replied.

"I thought it would please you, dearest," rejoined he. "The young
man has always seemed to be a favorite of yours. I should not have
selected him for our Eulalia, for fear the qualities of his father
might develop themselves in him; but you must remember that he has not
been educated among slaves. I think we can trust to that to make a
great difference in his character."

She groaned aloud, and sobbed out: "It _must_ be stopped. It will kill
me."

He sat down by her side, took her hand, and said very gravely: "Rosa,
you have often told me I was your best friend. Why then do you not
confide to me what it is that troubles you?"

"O, I cannot! I cannot!" she exclaimed. "I am a guilty wretch." And
there came a fresh outburst of sobs, which she stifled by keeping her
face hidden in the bedclothes.

"Rosa," said he, still more gravely, "you _must_ tell me the meaning
of this strange conduct. If an unworthy passion has taken possession
of you, it is your duty to try to conquer it for your own sake, for my
sake, for our daughter's sake. If you will confide in me, I will not
judge you harshly. I will return to Europe with you, and help you to
cure yourself. Tell me frankly, Rosa, do you love this young man?"

She looked up suddenly, and, seeing the extreme sadness of his face,
she exclaimed: "O Alfred, if you have thought _that_, I _must_ tell
you all. I do love Gerald; but it is because he is my own son."

"Your son!" he exclaimed, springing up, with the feeling that a great
load was lifted from