"I don't care what they are, father. They occupy one position and I another. I never approved of my sisters marrying them, and never will. I never intended to have any intercourse with them, and never will. That matter I settled long and long ago. I shall not invite them to my wedding, nor insult Mary and Ellen by inviting them alone." "You are an unnatural brother!" said Mrs. Dunbar, speaking with great warmth. She could no longer control her indignant feelings. She well knew the worth of Ellen and Mary, and the excellence of the men they had married. From both she received, at all times, the most affectionate attentions, while her son Lawrence had, for years, treated her with neglect or ill-concealed contempt. "You may think of me as you please, mother," replied the young man, in a slight insulting manner. "But I know what is due to myself and to my standing in society, and shall not be tempted to forget it. It is no fault of mine, that my sisters degraded themselves." "Silence!" exclaimed the old man, sternly. "I will not hear language so false and insulting. They have not degraded themselves. They cannot! Better children than are Mary and Ellen no parents ever had. I wish we could say as much for our son, for whose sake they were deeply wronged. To elevate you, Lawrence, they were depressed; and now you spurn them with your foot contemptuously. Truly have you risen in the world—risen above all that is just, noble, and honorable. Thus is our folly, thus is our injustice to those good girls, your sisters, repaid!" "If you can receive me at home in no better spirit, I shall remain away." This was said coldly and deliberately. "Cockatrice! Go!" said the father, passionately. Lawrence Dunbar turned suddenly on his heel and left the house. "That was too harsh, father," said Mrs. Dunbar to her husband, as the tears fell slowly over her time-marked face. "I don't know. Such language from a child stings worse than the fang of a serpent. I could not bear it." "He will hardly come home again." "Let him stay away then. His visits have never been frequent nor pleasant. He has come in mere shame at his neglect whenever he has come, and rarely went away without insulting us in word or manner. Our hope was that he might rise in the world, and we denied ourselves and wronged our daughters, that he might have the fullest opportunity; and thus he repays us."