By Berwen Banks

His son sat down again and listened eagerly. He had always longed to

hear something of his father's early life; he had always rebelled

against the cold barrier of mystery which seemed to enshroud him and

separate him from his only son.

"Well, to begin at the beginning," said the Vicar, fixing his eyes on

one spot on the carpet, "there was a time when I was young--perhaps you

can hardly realise that," he said suddenly, looking up; "but strange as

it may seem to you, it is a fact. I once was young, and though never

so gay and light-hearted as you still I was happy in my own way, and

fool enough to expect that life had for me a store of joys and

pleasures, just as you do now. I was doomed, of course, to bitter

disappointment, just as you will be. Well, I had one trouble, and that

was the fear that I might be appointed to a curacy which would take me

away from my old home, and I was greatly relieved when I was appointed

to this living through the influence of an old friend of my father's.

When I entered upon my new duties, I found the old church filled with a

hearty and friendly congregation; but soon afterwards that Methodist

Chapel was built on the moor, and that rascal Essec Powell became its

minister, and from that day to this he has been a thorn in the flesh to

me. My father died about a year after I was ordained, and I found the

old house rather lonely with only Betto, who was then young, to look

after my domestic affairs. My farm I found a great solace. About this

time I met your mother, Agnes Powell. Her uncle and aunt had lately

come to live in the neighbourhood, accompanied by their daughter Ellen

and their niece--your mother. The two girls were said to be wealthy,

and seemed to be as much attached to each other as though they had been

sisters. I don't remember much about Ellen Vaughan's appearance, in

fact I scarcely noticed her, for I had fallen passionately in love with

Agnes Powell. Are you listening, Caradoc?"

"Yes, indeed, sir," he said breathlessly, "I have thirsted for this

knowledge so long."

"You have! well, then, listen. I loved your mother with a frantic mad

devotion, though I killed her."

Cardo started.

"Yes, I killed her; not by a cruel blow, or murderous attack, but quite

as surely and as cruelly. I told you I had not your gay and lively

disposition. I might have added that I was sensitive and suspicious to

an intense degree, and from my first acquaintance with your mother

until the day I married her, I was always restless and uneasy, hating

and fearing every man who approached her."