By Berwen Banks

"'What has come between us, Meurig?' he said. 'What has become of the

faithful love of so many years? Is it possible you have grudged me the

shelter of your roof and the food that I have eaten? I can scarcely

believe it, and yet I fear it is true. Enclosed I leave you a cheque

which will pay for anything I may have cost you; further than that I

can only thank you for your, I fear, unwilling hospitality, and pray

that some day we may meet, when this mysterious cloud, which I have

deplored so much, may have cleared away.

"'When you read this, Ellen and I will have been married at St.

Jorwerth's Church at Caer Madoc, and shall, I hope, have sailed for

Australia, where you know I have long wished to go.' "'Betto,' I said, 'is she lying dead and still upstairs?' "'Yes, master, poor angel! still enough and white enough in her coffin!

Why, sir, why?' "'Because I wonder she does not come down and reproach us, for we have

been wronging her from beginning to end, Betto! These letters prove to

me that my brother--my beloved, innocent brother--was deeply in love

with her cousin, Ellen Vaughan, and she, in the tenderness of her

heart, helped to bring about their union, and was the means of

delivering the letters which they wrote to each other. They were

married this morning at Caer Madoc Church, and have probably already

sailed for Australia.' "Betto left me, sobbing bitterly. I think she has never forgiven

herself; neither can I forgive myself, Cardo. As the years went on, my

sorrow only deepened, and an intense longing arose in my heart for the

friendship of the brother who had been so much to me for so many years.

I wrote to him, Caradoc--a humble, penitent letter, beseeching his

forgiveness even as a man begs for his life. He has never answered my

letter. I know he is alive and thriving, as he writes sometimes to Dr.

Hughes; but to me he has never sent a message or even acknowledged my

letter, and I thirst for his forgiveness--I cannot die without it.

"I have long cherished the thought that when you came to man's estate I

would send you to him. I would send the best of earthly treasure that

I possess--my only son--to plead for me, to explain for me, and to

bring back his love and forgiveness. Now, Cardo, will you go?"

"I will, father," said Cardo, rising and placing his hand in his

father's.

"And can you think over what I have told you and still retain a little

love and pity for your old father?"

"Father, I feel nothing but the deepest sorrow and pity for you

both--father and mother. I don't know which is to be pitied most.

Thank you for telling me all this, it explains so much that has puzzled

me--it accounts for your sadness and gloom--and--and your apparent

coldness. I will go to Australia, and, please God, I will bring back

my uncle's love and forgiveness to you."