doat on his very grave," he said, stamping his foot, "and by
the side of it you would have starved, a penniless widow, had I not
taken you."

Her breast heaved with anger--"And should I not have been well content
to starve, rather than eat that bitter bread which I bought with the
title of your wife: but the child, his child and mine, would have
perished, or lived in misery; and for his sake, for my lost husband's
sake, I married you, that I might the better cherish the poor son he
left me."

"Oh! why will you torture me? It is true, that, from the days of our
first meeting, you have fostered within me the unconquerable hate which,
for my agony and yours, has grown mightier than the mighty love I bear
you. It is by this wanton lavishing upon him, and now upon his son, of
the tenderness I sought with a life's idolatry to gain, which has
curdled the very blood within my heart, and makes me feel that I would
rather leave you to languish in the worst of poverty than furnish you
the means of blessing him with all life's treasures, and dwelling with
him in delight, when I can no longer claim your presence, by the wife's
obedience, if not alas! alas! by the woman's love. No, though my
resolution has made our life a miserable struggle, yet am I immovable in
this--I never will go down into the dungeon of the grave, and know that
over my impotent dust the son of my rival is revelling in all my wealth,
dwelling in my home, making you happy, as you never were when at my
side, because he has the likeness of his father in his face. Already is
it torture to me to know he is within these walls; and often I have
thought that, madly as I love you, it was a dear-bought pleasure to have
you as my wife, when the condition on which you came to me was the
presence of this hateful boy. Oh, Catherine, be advised, give him
up--strange object of affection, truly!"--and he laughed bitterly--"not
to starve--he is your son--I do not ask it; but to go and live upon a
pittance somewhere out of my sight and thoughts. Then give me this easy
pledge, that he never shall inherit Randolph Abbey, and I will have no
other heir but you. With your own hands, if you will, you then may drive
out all these children of my brothers; I care not what becomes of them;
and here you shall be a very queen, possessor of the whole fair lands
for ever."

He had given her time to quell her emotion in this earnest speech, and
he shuddered as he met the look of impassible an