She flew into the house with Louis, and I saw nothing more of her that day. Louis, as I afterwards learned, kept his room for a week; it was not till months had passed that we met again, and then I noticed a scar on his forehead which I was told he would carry with him to the grave. From that time I was made to feel that I had two bitter enemies in my father's house. Arrangements were made to keep me at school during holidays, and I was not sorry for it. Once a year only was I allowed to visit my home, and then I was shunned; my meals were served to me in a separate room, and not the slightest attention was paid to my wants. I grew to be accustomed to this, and took refuge in study, longing for the day to arrive when I should be free. I recall the conversation which took place on that day between my stepmother and me. "You have made arrangements, I presume," she commenced, "for residing elsewhere?" "I have been thinking what I had best do," I said. "That is not what I asked you. It is perfectly immaterial to me what you have been thinking of. I presume your arrangements to live elsewhere are already made." As a matter of fact they were not, but I could not pretend to misunderstand her. "You wish me to leave the house soon?" I said. "At once," she replied, "without a moment's unnecessary delay. You shall not eat another meal here. Your presence is hateful to me." "I have known that all my life," I said, mournfully. "Then why have you remained so long?" she asked, speaking with angry vehemence. "A man with a particle of spirit in him would have gone away years ago, but you, like the creature you are, have sponged upon me to the last hour. You are twenty-one to-day, and I am no longer legally obliged to keep you. Go, and disgrace yourself, as you are sure to do." "I shall never do that." "It has to be proved," she retorted. "As if any one knowing you would believe a word that passes your lips! We shall see your name in the papers in connection with some scandalous affair." "You are mistaken. I bear my father's name, and I would suffer a hundred deaths rather than see it dragged through the mire." "Swear it," she cried. "I swear it. But, hating me as you do, why should you be so sensitive about my good name?" "Your good name!" she said, scornfully. "It is only because I bear it, because Louis bears it, as well as you, that I exact the pledge from you. Otherwise, do you think I care what becomes of you?" "Truly," I said, "I believe it would rejoice you to hear the worst." "It would." % "I hope to disappoint you. On my solemn word of honor nothing that I do shall ever make our name a theme for scandal or reproach." "I hold you to that. We shall see whether there is any manhood in you, or the least sense of honor. Now, go!" "Cannot we part without enmity?" I asked. Persecuted and wronged as I had been, some touch of sentiment--of which I was not ashamed--moved me to the endeavor to soften the heart of my dead father's wife.