ted period, when he was under no necessity of asking money
from any individual.

"Bless me, my dear Mr. Lawson!" cried the lady, starting up from her
recumbent position, "did I not give you a whole handful of shillings
only the day before yesterday; and if you wasted it all on poor people
since, what am I to do? Why, indeed, we contribute so much to charitable
subscriptions, both Mr. Lawson and I, _you_ might be content to give a
little less to common beggars."

Mrs. Lawson spoke with a smile on her lips, and with a soft caressing
voice, but a hard and selfish nature shone palpably from her blue eyes.
She was a young woman, and had the repute of beauty, which a clear
pink-and-white complexion, and tolerable features, with luxuriant light
hair, generally gains from a portion of the world. She was dressed for
the reception of morning visitors whom she expected, and she was
enveloped in expensive satin and blond, and jewelry in large
proportions.

John Lawson seemed to feel every word she had uttered in the depths of
his soul, but he made a strong effort to restrain the passion which was
rising to his lips.

"Augusta, my daughter, you are the wife of my only and most beloved
child--I wish to love you--I wish to live in peace with you, and
all--give me some money to relieve the wants of the unfortunate woman to
whom I have promised relief, and who is waiting without. I ask not for
myself, but for the poor and suffering--give me a trifle of money, I
say."

"Indeed, Mr. Lawson, a bank would not support your demands for the poor
people; that woman for whom you are begging has been relieved twenty
times by us. I have no money just now."

She threw herself back on the sofa and resumed her novel; but anger,
darting from her eyes, contrasted with the trained smile which still
remained on her lips.

A dark shade of passion and scorn came over John Lawson's face, but he
strove to suppress it, and his voice was calm when he spoke.

"Some time before my son married you, I gave up all my business to
him--I came to live here among trees and flowers--I gave up all the
lucrative business I had carried on to my son, partly because my health
was failing, and I longed to live with nature, away from the scenes of
traffic; but more especially, because I loved my son with no common
love, and I trusted to him as to a second self. I was not
disappointed--we had one purse and one heart before he married you; he
never questioned me conce