By Berwen Banks
Page 63"Wait, wait, Cardo; let me finish my story. That was the last time
your mother came to church. In a short time afterwards you were born,
and during the intervening time I struggled harder than ever, not to
forgive, but to drop my wife entirely out of my life. I tried to
ignore her presence, to forget that she had ever been dear to me; but I
give you my word, Cardo, I never spoke a harsh or accusing word to
her. I simply dropped her as far as possible out of my life; and she,
though growing paler and thinner each day, still held her head up
proudly; and while I seemed to ignore her presence--though, God knows,
not a look nor a movement escaped me--Lewis was incessant in his tender
"I had loved my brother passionately, fondly, and the feeling of bitter
hatred which now took possession of me tore my very heart-strings, for,
in spite of my suspicious and jealous nature, I loved these two--my
wife and my brother--with an intensity few would have believed me
capable of. Have I made this plain to you, Cardo? At last one
evening, just at this time of the year, and at this hour of the day,
Betto brought you to me in her arms. She had tears on her face, and as
she looked down at her little white bundle, I noticed that a tear fell
on your little hand. I did not like it, Cardo; though I thought I was
on your hand, and hoped it did not prognosticate evil for you.
"Agnes was too ill to see me until the next day, when Betto said she
was calling for me. I rose and went at once; but on the stairs, coming
down to meet me, was a girl, whose face I recognised at once as that of
Essec Powell's sister. I felt great indignation at the sight, as Agnes
knew my intense dislike to the Methodist preacher, and, drawing back
for her to pass, I said, 'I did not expect to meet a stranger in my own
house at such a time, and I must beg that it may not happen again.' "The girl passed on, with an angry flush upon her face. Betto gently
drew me into an adjoining bedroom, and, with a troubled face, implored
'poor thing, she's as frail as an eggshell. Wait till she is well,
master, and then--I pray God may bring some light out of this darkness.' "I only nodded, and went gently into the sickroom. Agnes was lying
propped up by pillows, her face almost as white as they. Her eyes were
closed, as she had not heard my careful footsteps. I looked at her
intently, while all sorts of thoughts and longings passed through my
mind. At last the intensity of my gaze seemed to awaken her, for she
opened her eyes, and for a moment there was a tremor on her lips.