"Remember, when you see me lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which I learned that you had deceived me." "Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!" "It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made deliberately.

I am not cruel.

If you write to me I shall return your letters unopened.

I shall refuse to see or hear from you, or to allow you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to your mother--I do not forbid that.

She can see you under any roof save mine.