and still it displeased me. Then, in sudden anger, I pushed the book
from me, and seeing it slipping from the stand I caught the leaf to
prevent it from falling, and it was torn by the weight of the book. Oh,
dear father, will you forgive me?"

"Forgive you, my daughter? Do you not know how it grieves my heart to
punish you; but how can this offense to the house be forgiven, which
must stand in evidence against us from generation to generation? For we
cease to be, but the house remains; and the writing we leave on it,
whether it be good or evil, that too remains for ever. An unkind word is
an evil thing, an unkind deed a worse, but when these are repented they
may be forgiven and forgotten. But an injury done to the house cannot be
forgotten, for it is the flaw in the stone that keeps its place, the
crude, inharmonious color which cannot be washed out with water.
Consider, my daughter, in the long life of the house, how many unborn
men will turn the leaves of this book, and coming to this leaf will be
offended at so grievous a disfigurement! If we of this generation were
destined to live for ever, then it might be written on this page for a
punishment and warning:" Yoletta tore it in her anger. "But we must pass
away and be nothing to succeeding generations, and it would not be right
that Yoletta's name should be remembered for the wrong she did to the
house, and all she did for its good forgotten."

A painful silence ensued, then, lifting her tear-stained face, she said:
"Oh father, what must my punishment be?"

"Dear child, it will be a light one, for we consider your youth and
impulsive nature, and also that the wrong you did was partly the result
of accident. For thirty days you must live apart from us, subsisting on
bread and water, and holding intercourse with one person only, who will