But one of those mighty drawings of the spirit—stronger than chains of triple steel—that thirst of the heart for pure domestic joy, which the foaming goblet can never quench—that immortal longing which rises up from the lowest abysses of sin, that yearning for pardon which stirred the bosom of the Hebrew prodigal, constrained the transgressing Louis to burst asunder the bonds of iniquity, and return to his father’s house.
“I am glad you have come alone, brother,” repeated Helen, repressing the sigh that quivered on her lips.
“Who did you expect would be my companion?” asked Louis, putting back the long, neglected locks, that fell darkly over his temples.
“I feared Bryant Clinton would return with you,” replied Helen, regretting the next moment that she had uttered a name which seemed to have the effect of galvanism on Mittie—who started spasmodically, and lifted the screen before her face. No one had asked for Clinton, yet all had been thinking of him more or less.
“I have not seen him for several weeks,” he replied, “he had business that called him in another direction, but he will probably be here soon.”
Again Mittie gave a spasmodic start, and held the screen closer to her face. Helen sighed, and looked anxiously towards her mother. The announcement excited very contradictory emotions.
“Do you mean to imply that he is coming again as the guest of your parents, as the inmate of this home?” asked Mr. Gleason, sternly.
“Yes, sir,” replied Louis, a red streak flashing across his face. “How could it be otherwise?”
“But it shall be otherwise,” exclaimed Mr. Gleason, rising abruptly from his chair, and speaking with a vehemence so unwonted that it inspired awe. “That young man shall never again, with my consent, sit down at my board, or sleep under my roof. I believe him a false, unprincipled, dangerous companion—whom my doors shall never more be opened to receive. Had it not been for him, that pale, stone-like, petrified girl, might have been brilliant and blooming, yet. Had it not been for him, I should not have the anguish, the humiliation, the shame of seeing my son, my only son, the darling of his dead mother’s heart, the pride and hope of mine, a blighted being, shorn of the brightness of youth, and the glory of advancing manhood. Talk not to me of bringing the destroyer here. This fireside shall never more be darkened by his presence.”
Mr. Gleason paused, but from his eye, fixed steadfastly on Louis, the long sleeping lightning darted. Mittie, who had sprung from her chair while her father was speaking, stood with white cheeks and parted lips, and eyes from which fire seemed to coruscate, gazing first at him, and then at her brother.