Reflection on the ungratefulness of her children aroused her
indignation, instead of subduing her feelings. An open rupture
ensued, and then came a separation. Mrs. Linden left the house of
her son--but a short time before it was her own house--and took
lodgings in the family of an old friend, with a heart full of
bitterness toward her children. In Antoinette she had been miserably
disappointed. A weak, vain, passionate, selfish creature, she had
shown not the slightest regard for Mrs. Linden, but had exhibited
toward her a most unamiable temper.

When it was communicated to Antoinette by her husband that his
mother had left them, she tossed her head and said--"I'm glad to
hear it."

"No, you must not say that," was William's reply, with an effort to
look serious and offended.

"And why not? It's the truth. She has made herself as disagreeable
as she could, ever since we were married, and I would be a hypocrite
to say that I was not glad to be rid of her."

"She is my mother, and you must not speak so about her," returned
William, now feeling really offended.

"How will you help it, pray?" was the stinging reply. And the
ill-tempered creature looked at her husband with a curl of the lip.

Muttering a curse, he turned from her and left the house. The rage
of a husband who is only restrained by the fear of disgrace from
striking his wife, is impotent. His only resource is to fly from the