The old woman fixed her keen eyes on the excited and stern face of the young man, with a hard, determined look that made the heart tremble in his bosom; and he shrunk back with mortal dread, as if a rattlesnake were about to spring upon him. “She had disgraced my house, sir, and I sent her out of it.” The young man started back, and turned white to the very lips. “Not, not!—woman, tell me what this means!” The woman was ruthless. The glitter grew sharper and keener in her eyes. She had no compassion on the terrible agitation that shook the young man. “Go up to the Almshouse, if you want to know more. She may be there yet with her child!” “With her child, her child? my wife, my poor, poor wife! I tell you, woman, she was my wife. Before God and man, she is my wife—mine, mine—do you hear?” “Yes, I hear; she said the same thing. I didn’t believe her. I don’t believe you. It is the old crazy blood up. You would cover her shame with your own. Like father, like son.” “Woman, you insult me, you wrong that dear girl!” cried the young man, trembling with passion, “I repeat again, she was my wife!” “Perhaps you can give me the proof?” said the old woman, holding out her hand, while a quiet sneer stole across her lips. “She had nothing to show—you may be better off!” “Catharine has the proofs. I left them with her.” The old woman laughed, or rather hissed out her satisfaction. “She was a careless thing to lose them, I must say that. All I asked was some written proof of her story. If she had a certificate, why not show it? I wouldn’t have let her go to the Almshouse, if she had!” The old woman seemed to love the repetition of this hateful word, the Almshouse, for she saw that it made the young man wince; and this was a joy to her. The poor youth made no reply, but sat down, faint with suffering; for now he began to comprehend the utter misery of his position. Months had passed since his poor young wife could have known the shelter of a respectable home. What might she not have endured, so young, so helpless, a mere child in years! How terribly she must have suffered. The cruelty of his miserable old stepmother was lost in the rush of remorseful compassion that filled his soul. With all this flood of sorrow came a new birth of feeling, so strong, so intense, that it thrilled him from head to foot. He scarcely recognized it as a joy, it was so strange, burning like a drop of elixir through all the pain and disappointment that had fallen upon him. He was a father! A living soul had started from the immortal life within him; and the thought swept like solemn music through his stormy passions, giving dignity and depth to his manner.