They had led a harsh, discordant life, and the coming of a son, which should have bridged the loveless gulf between them, seemed but to have served to dig it wider.

And the son had been just the harsh, unfeeling offspring that might be looked for from such a union.

Thirty years of slavery had been her ladyship's, and in those thirty years her nature had been soured and warped, and what inherent sweetness it may once have known had long since been smothered and destroyed.

She had no cause to love that man who had never loved her, never loved aught of hers beyond her jointure.

And yet, there was the habit of thirty years.