Viola Gwyn

iola entered the house. She was there ten or fifte

irl, from the doorway, after waiting a moment fo

e since the trying experiences of early morning. Viola had sulked all day, while her mother preserved a stony

nd stopped again to regard the motionless, unresponsive figure at the window. Mrs. Gwyn's elbow w

ing to steal over and throw her arms about those bent shoulders and whisper words of remorse. Desolatio

to wound this stony, in

rightly blaze. She shivered, and then, moved by a sudden impulse, strode softly over and took down from its peg beside the fireplace the huge turkey wing used in blowing the

of her hands pressed tightly to

I was afraid he might be-would be-" The words trailed off into a mumble,

girl, alarmed by the other's exp

, quite calmly: "Oh, it's you,

ow cold it is! The fi

indling and

ow how I came to

aring moodily down at the ashes. She moved to one side while her daughter laid the kindling and placed three or four sticks of firewood

grove," said she, rising and brus

es

pelle and me and what happened last night, so I started

of Mrs. Gwyn's lips. "I can well imag

get it from you, mother," said the girl, d

itterness in her voice. "I would have given all I possess if it could have been kept from Ke

ause of her mother's pain, sn

ases. It's nothing to us. I guess we can get along very well without his good opinion or his good will or anything else. And I will not all

inion of him. We will not discuss him, if you please. We have come to an understanding on certain matters, and that is all that

n the same position. He is my half-brother. It is going to be very awkward. He is nothing to you,-a

and he have a perfect right to be friendly. It would no

d I guess he realizes it by this time. But people know that we had the same father. They will thi

e say to yo

e! Officious, sar

ave you a good talkin

rather

things I can n

you and

hat he did not care whether I married him or not,-or ran away with him, for that matter. You will not get much support from him, let me tell you. And now I have

ly for a moment before respondin

ct in case he marries you. Tell him for me that you will never receive a penny or an inch of land when

wants to marry me for your money or your lands. He w

he will want you for something entirely different. At any rate, you should make it plain to him that he will get nothing but you,-absolutely nothing but you. Men of his kind do not love long. They love violently-but not long. Idle, improvident men, such as he is, are able to crowd a whole lot of love into a very short space of time. That is because they have nothing

g. "You mean-you mean you would let me starve,-your own

Rachel Gwyn, com

"you are the most unnatura

y Lapelle has cast you off. I am only asking you to tell him what he may expect from me. And I am trying

pite of everything. I am not afraid of starving. I don't want a penny of father's money. He did not choose to give

nnot permit you to question his acts or his motives. He did what he t

your husband's act," s

ioning my F

hen fell. One corner of her mouth worked curiously. Then, wit

se a door; then her slow, heavy tread on the boards above. S

dog. "The only person in all the world who has ever really loved me,-poor, poor old mother." She stared through her tears at the flames, a little pucker of uncertainty clouding her brow. "I am sure Barry never, never can love me as

supper, she a

how old i

since sitting down to table, which was set, as usual, in t

und reverie, gave her daughter a sh

Twenty-five or

know hi

r a percept

e died were you an

nearly two years when we were

nneth spell his

way, according to your father. It was his father, I believe, who added the l

ell it one way and his own son anot

ly, Viola. Your father never spoke of them. I am afraid he was not on good terms with them. He was a strange man. He kept things to himself.

ould have been a litt

hou

sary for me to know," said

ing more about father's p

our father was about twenty years old when he left home and came t

kwoodsman," said Viola. "H

ed man. He came o

see down the river. Goodness, I was proud of you

long survive him. After her death I came west with my brother and his wife and a dozen other men and women. We lived in a settlement on the Ohio River for several years. My brother w

you first m

out of her mouth. The look of pain,-almost of pleading

not stop to think. I know how it hurts y

eyes now cold and forbidding. She arose and stalked to the kitchen window

ie," said Viola, prese

r mother and timidly laid

y, mother,

served: "We have had very little sleep in the

house. To-night Viola, instead of Hattie, followed the tall black figure from door to window, carrying the lighted candle.

nd laden with the smell of earth. A clumsy hound came slouching around the corner of the little porch and, wagging his tail, sto

to be Kenneth's home. Its outlines could be made out among the tree

ying, more to herself than to Viola. "A haunted house. Haunted by a

ot speak

e came to Ra

r a short pause, laughed throatily. "I guess it

thing could ever be right again. What with the fiasco of the night just gone, the appearance of the mysterious brother, the counterbalancing of resolve and re

she had known so little, ay, almost nothing, about her own mother's life. For the first time, she heard of Salem, of her mother's people and her occupation, of the journey westward, of the u