She called down bitter curses on his head, she railed at fate for its terrible irony, at Heaven for its swift justice, and she swore that, in return for her wrongs, she would yet have the life of Rosalind Whitney. “She was born to be my evil genius!” she passionately cried. “Is it any wonder I hated her from the first moment that I looked on her dark face? It was a true instinct that warned me from the first to crush her as one treads on the poisonous vipers coiling in one’s path!” The mother, who had grown gray in a night with sorrow, who had looked life in the face through its many phases in dark vigils of gloom, who had begun to comprehend dimly her own grave errors and mistakes, burst into stormy tears. “They have broken your heart, too!” cried Lelia bitterly. “They have sowed lines in your face and white threads in your hair! Oh, I will pay them out for that, too; I will bide my time to repay.” “Hush, Lelia, darling; you are all wrong,” sobbed the mother entreatingly, and she added brokenly: “We have reaped what we sowed in our blindness, in our malice, and our envy. We hated, and our hate lured evil in our lives. I have been to blame for all. I taught you the law of hate, instead of love.” “Then I should curse you, too!” was the answer, hissed through writhing lips, and Lelia flung herself sullenly, face downward, on her bed, refusing to speak or look up for hours, the prey of dumb fury and despair beyond expression. No one ever had a harder task to bring a reckless mind to reason than the erring mother, who had fostered in her child all the faults that laid her young life in ruins. The girl could think only of her fancied wrongs, her yearned-for revenge; she raved wildly in her impotent despair. Mrs. Ritchie tried to whisper hope and resignation. “Obedience to your husband’s wishes will bring forgiveness in time,” she said. “He will return, he must return, and the memory of your past errors will fade, while his old love revives in its entirety.” “But to go and shut myself up in prison, mama, in a horrible sanatorium for sick people, it nearly kills me to think of it!” cried the girl. “I am not ill, I am not mad, I only talk in my sleep, and now that you all know about it, the terrible strain will be off my mind--the dreadful fear of being betrayed--so that I may be able to sleep calmly once more! Oh, I will never consent to go into seclusion this way. It is just like being put in prison for what I did to my hated rival--like being punished for my sin!” “It is the only way in which to account for your separation from Laurie. Do you want to go out into society, and face the accusation that your husband deserted you on your wedding-day? It would cover you with shame that you never could live down,” cried Mrs. Ritchie, appealing to her pride. Lelia’s towering pride rose in arms.