By Berwen Banks

"The same evening, Agnes was sitting at her work at the bay window of

the west parlour, while I was busily writing in the old farm parlour

which we now use. Lewis entered with the strained and saddened look

which he had worn in my presence latterly; he reached a book from the

bookshelf, and sauntered in through the stone passage into the west

parlour. In a moment I had risen and followed him, and, walking

carefully on the carpet which covered it, then, reached the door of the

sitting-room without being heard, and through the chink of the

half-open door I saw my brother stoop down and whisper something

confidentially in my wife's ear.

"I entered the room immediately afterwards, and Lewis made some casual

remark about the sunset, while Agnes went on quietly sewing. How to

endure my agony of mind I knew not, for I now felt convinced that my

doubts were warranted; but I was determined to control my feelings and

restrain any expression of anger until after the birth of her child,

which was fast approaching, as I still loved her too much to endanger

her health, and I knew that if once the floodgates of my anger were

opened the storm of passion would be beyond my control.

"On the following Sunday Agnes came to church for the last time, and

after the service I went into the vestry to take off my gown; and as I

followed the stream of worshippers leaving the porch, I saw her joined

by Lewis, who walked with her towards the lych gate, and before I

reached them I distinctly saw him place a note in her hand. She

quickly put it in her pocket, and, with a friendly and satisfied nod,

he turned round to speak to a neighbouring farmer.

"The blood surged through my veins"--and the old man rose from his

chair and stood before his son, who sat with his elbow on the table.

Unconsciously the Vicar seemed to take the position of a prisoner

before his judge; his hands were clenched nervously, and as he spoke he

drew his handkerchief over his damp face.

"Yes," he said, "my blood surged through my veins, but even then I did

not speak a word of complaint or anger. Had I done so, I might have

been spared the years of anguish and remorse which have been my share

since then.

"I walked home silently by my wife's side, forcing myself to make some

casual remark. She answered as coldly. And thus passed away our only

chance of explanation and reconciliation. You are silent, Caradoc; you

do not like to speak the condemnation and the contempt which you feel

for your father."

"Father," said Cardo, "I feel nothing but pity for you and pity for my

poor mother. As for my uncle--"