She repeated the word "Beggary!"--she clasped her hands together--for a few moments she stood in silent anguish--her bosom heaved--the tears gushed forth--she flung her arms around her husband's neck--"Yes!" she cried, "I can meet even beggary with my Edward!" "O Heaven!" cried the prodigal, "would that the earth would swallow me! I cannot stand this!" I will not dwell upon the endeavours of the fond, forgiving wife, to soothe and to comfort her unworthy husband; nor yet will I describe to you the anguish of the prodigal's father and of his mother, when they heard the extent of his folly and of his guilt. Already he had cost the old man much, and, with a heavy and sorrowful heart, he proceeded to his son's house to comfort his daughter-in-law. When he entered, she was endeavouring to cheer her husband with a tune upon the harpsichord--though, Heaven knows, there was no music in her breast, save that of love--enduring love! "Well, Edward," said the old man, as he took a seat, "what is this that thou hast done now?" The prodigal was silent. "Edward," continued the grey-haired parent, "I have had deaths in my family--many deaths, and thou knowest it--but I never had to blush for a child but thee! I have felt sorrow, but thou hast added shame to sorrow--" "O father!" cried Eleanor, imploringly, "do not upbraid my poor husband." The old man wept--he pressed her hand, and, with a groan, said, "I am ashamed that thou shouldst call me father, sweetest; but if thou canst forgive him, I should. He is all that is left to me--all that the hand of death has spared me in this world! Yet, Eleanor, his conduct is a living death to me--it is worse than all that I have suffered. When affliction pressed heavily upon me, and, year after year, I followed my dear children to the grave, my neighbours sympathized with me--they mingled their tears with mine; but now, child--oh, now, I am ashamed to hold up my head amongst them! O Edward, man! if thou hast no regard for thy father or thy heart-broken mother, hast thou no affection for thy poor wife?--canst thou bring her and thy helpless children to ruin? But that, I may say, thou hast done already! Son! son! if thou wilt murder thy parents, hast thou no mercy for thine own flesh and blood?--wilt thou destroy thine own offspring? O Edward! if there be any sin that I will repent upon my death-bed, it will be that I have been a too indulgent father to thee--that I am the author of thy crimes!" "No, father! no!" cried the prodigal; "my sins are my own! I am their author, and my soul carries its own punishment! Spurn me! cast me off!--disown me for ever!--it is all I ask of you! You despise me--hate me too, and I will be less miserable!"