s to redeem the rich inheritance squandered in his prime.

If ever man received punishment for a self-inflicted wrong it was John
Yule. A punishment as subtle as the sin; for in the children growing up
about him every relinquished hope, neglected gift, lost aspiration,
seemed to live again; yet on each and all was set the direful stamp of
imperfection, which made them visible illustrations of the great law
broken in his youth.

In Prudence, as she grew to womanhood, he saw his own practical tact and
talent, nothing more. She seemed the living representative of the years
spent in strife for profit, power, and place; the petty cares that fret
the soul, the mercenary schemes that waste a life, the worldly
formalities, frivolities, and fears, that so belittle character. All
these he saw in this daughter's shape; and with pathetic patience bore
the daily trial of an over active, over anxious, affectionate but most
prosaic child.

In Mark he saw his ardor for the beautiful, his love of the poetic, his
reverence for genius, virtue, heroism. But here too the subtle blight
had fallen. This son, though strong in purpose was feeble in
performance; for some hidden spring of power was wanting, and the shadow
of that earlier defeat chilled in his nature the energy which is the
first attribute of all success. Mark loved poetry, and "wrote in numbers
for the numbers came;" but, whether tragic, tender, or devout, in each
attempt there was enough of the divine fire to warm them into life, yet
not enough to gift them with the fervor that can make a line immortal,
and every song was a sweet lament for the loftier lays that might have
been. He loved art and gave himself to it; but though studying all forms
of beauty he never reached its soul, and every effort tantalized him
with fresh glimpses of the fair ideal which he could not reach. He loved
the true, but high thoughts seldom blossomed into noble deeds; for when
the hour came the man was never ready, and disappointment was his daily
portion. A sad fate for the son, a far sadder one for the father who had
bequeathed it to him from the irrecoverable past.

In Sylvia he saw, mysteriously blended, the two natures that had given
her life, although she was born when the gulf between regretful husband
and sad wife was widest. As if indignant Nature rebelled against the
outrage done her holiest ties, adverse temperaments gifted the child
with the good and ill of each. From her father she rec