"I was foolish and mad and blind," he cried. "It was the most empty boast the world ever knew. Oh, Laurel, will you not forgive me for my hardness and cruelty?"
She stood still, with her small hands folded before her, her fair head drooping low, as she answered:
"I do forgive you."
"Then you will come back to me! You will not be hard upon me, Laurel, I have repented so bitterly. I repented within twenty-four hours after I had put you away from me so hardly. All my life since we parted, has been one long repentance, my darling."
"I did not come back for this, St. Leon," she said, tremulously; "I meant only to give you the child. I thought I should go away then."
Little Laurence uttered a startled cry. He wrenched himself loose from his father's clasp, and ran to her to hide his face in the soft white folds of her dress.
"No, no," he said, vehemently, "I cannot stay with papa unless you will stay, too, mamma. I love you the best!"
St. Leon looked at his wife. She shrunk a little before that look. It was sadly reproachful.
"You see how it is," he said. "You have kept him from me all his life, and now he has no love to give me!"