"You wonder that I hate my mother; let me tell you why. When she was
beautiful and young she married, knowing the sad history of my
father's family. He was rich, she poor and proud; ambition made her
wicked, and she did it after being warned that, though he might
escape, his children were sure to inherit the curse, for when one
generation goes free it falls more heavily upon the rest. She knew
it all, and yet she married him. I have her to thank for all I
suffer, and I cannot love her though she is my mother. It may be
wrong to say these things, but they are true; they burn in my heart,
and I must speak out; for I tell you there comes a time when
children judge their parents as men and women, in spite of filial
duty, and woe to those whose actions change affection and respect to
hatred or contempt."
The bitter grief, the solemn fervor of her words, both touched and
awed Christie too much for speech. Helen had passed beyond the
bounds of ceremony, fear, or shame: her hard lot, her dark
experience, set her apart, and gave her the right to utter the bare
truth. To her heart's core Christie felt that warning; and for the
first time saw what many never see or wilfully deny,--the awful
responsibility that lies on every man and woman's soul forbidding
them to entail upon the innocent the burden of their own
infirmities, the curse that surely follows their own sins.
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