"And he will never alter it," cried Ruth. "You might as well have stayed in Africa, if you have come for that purpose, cousin Sebastion. You will never make Max ashamed of his father and his brothers and sisters, however much you may choose to look down upon them."

"Ruth, my dear love," exclaimed Mrs. Brandon, aghast.

"I am glad to hear you express some surprise, sister," Miss Earle said, flushing and bridling; "when you have leisure, and feel yourself equal to it, you will perhaps take the trouble of reproving Ruth for her unbecoming habit of contradicting her elders, and giving her opinion where it is not asked. My words, I have long noticed, are of no avail. You may well look surprised, Sebastion, but you must prepare yourself for seeing me treated with contempt in my own house now. It is not precisely what I was once accustomed

to, as you know, but it is perhaps the reward I might have expected for the sacrifices I have been making all my life. It is perhaps natural that those whom I have taken into my house to keep them from starving, should turn against me, and despise me in my old age.'

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Oh, sister, sister," said Mrs. Brandon, piteously.

The moan with which these words came out smote Ruth to the heart, and was a bitter punishment to her for her want of consideration. She would have given anything to have recalled her words, now that it was too late. She understood perfectly what she had done; her momentary want of self-command had brought a gloomy time upon the whole family that might last for days. A time when her mother would languish and suffer, and the elder boys keep out of the way; and the children grow sullen and restless under constant unjust reproofs. It seemed a long punishment for a

few hasty words, but Ruth had had experience, the penalty had been inflicted often enough, she might have learned to weigh her words well by this time; so she told herself during the few minutes' silence that followed, when the clock on the chimney-piece clicked distinctly, as it had often done before in similar silence, and when everyone in the room wondered who would have courage to say the first words.

They came at last from Sebastion. He made several attempts to draw the conversation back to indifferent subjects, and Ruth seconded him with all her powers; but it was in vain. Miss Earle retained an obstinate, and Mrs. Brandon a frightened silence. Wearied at length with making remarks which no one answered, Sebastion got up, and offered to take upon himself, Frederick's duty of calling at Mrs. Warren's house to escort Caroline home after her evening's entertainment.

Mrs. Brandon had lamented several times during the course of the evening, that Major Earle should be obliged to come round again by Stone Street, and Sebastion now proposed to obviate this difficulty by presenting himself at Mrs. Warren's house in Frederick's

stead.

He should not be sorry, he remarked, to meet his uncle, Major Earle, that night, and be the first to inform him of his return to England.

Ruth, who rather dreaded his departure, tried to telegraph a request that he would not leave them, but he either could not or would not understand her eye-language.

As soon as the door shut after him, the storm that had been gathering all the evening fell-fell on the gentle head bowed already by so many storms. And yet, perhaps, storm is hardly the right word to use; it was only one of the scenes that happened often enough in that carefully-kept little parlour. There was

no vulgar violence or indecorum about it, the rain of words fell evenly and slowly, everyone heavy and telling. On one side there were reproaches for past services, complaints of ingratitude, sarcastic insinuations, all the more bitter because they welled up from a fountain of love suppressed and poisoned long ago; on the other only weak excuses, sobs, and tears, and cries for pity, that fell on an ear too heavy with anger to hear them. Ruth, the real culprit, sat still with tight-clasped hands, to bear her punishment as best she might, the punishment of seeing her mother suffer for her fault.

In the meantime, Sebastion walked along the street in the moonlight, in a thoughtful mood. He had seen some things of which he disapproved, and yet, on the whole, he was not disappointed in his relations, looked at for the first time with the discriminating eyes of a man who had seen the world. One part of their conduct had pleased him especially.