ion of tears, and "oh, brother!--oh, mother!" burst through
thick-coming sobs from her quivering lips.

"Mother!" exclaimed Ernest,--and his voice sounded hollow and
unnatural,--"I have reason to be angry,--I do not deserve this stern
rebuke,--you know not how much I have borne and forborne for your sake.
But if my mother teaches that rebellion to my will is a wife's duty, it
is time indeed that we should part."

"Oh, Ernest!" cried Edith; "oh, my brother! you will break my heart."

And rising, she seemed to fly to his side, and throwing her arms round
his neck, she lifted up her voice and wept aloud.

"Hush, my daughter, hush, Edith," said her mother. "I wish my son to
hear me, and if they were the last words I ever expected to utter, they
could not be more solemn. I have loved you, Ernest, with a love
bordering on idolatry,--with a pride most sinful in a Christian
parent,--but even the strength of a mother's love will yield at last
before the stormy passions that desolate her home. The spirit of the
Spartan mother, who told her son when he left her for the battle field,
'to return _with_ his shield, or _on_ it,' animates my bosom. I had far,
far rather weep over the grave of my son, than live to blush for his
degeneracy."

"And I would far rather be in my grave, this moment," he answered, in
the same hoarse, deep undertone, "than suffer the agonies of the last
few hours. Let me die,--let me die at once; then take this young man to
your bosom, where he has already supplanted me. Make him your son in a
twofold sense, for, by the heaven that hears me, I believe you would
bless the hour that gave him the right to Gabriella's love."

"Father, forgive him, he knows not what he utters," murmured his mother,
lifting her joined hands to heaven. I still clung to her in trembling
awe, forgetting my own sorrow in the depth and sacredness of hers.
"Ernest," she said, in a louder tone, "I cannot continue this painful
scene. I will go to my own chamber and pray for you; pray for your
release from the dominion of the powers of darkness. Oh, my son! I
tremble for you. You are standing on the brink of a terrible abyss. The
fiend that lurked in the bowers of Eden, and made its flowers dim with
the smoke of fraternal blood, is whispering in your ear. Beware, my son,
beware. Every sigh and tear caused by the indulgence of unhallowed
passion, cries as loud to Almighty God for vengeance as Abel's reeking
blood. Come, Gabriella, I leav