whatever: it would have been wrong in me to do so."
"Wrong to love him! Why, he is your brother only in name."
"Wrong to encourage him in a love I do not and cannot return," replied Mildred, with a mighty effort, at the same time disengaging her hand.
Mrs. Kinloch could not repress a feeling of admiration, even in her despair, as she saw the clear, brave glance, the heightened color, and the heaving bosom of the girl.
"But, in time, you may think differently," she said, almost piteously.
"I wished to be spared this pain, mother," Mildred replied, trembling at her own boldness, "but you will not let me; and I must tell you, kindly, but decidedly, that I never could marry Hugh under any circumstances whatever."
Her mother did not wince at the rebuff, but followed on even closer. "And why? Who is there more manly, well-educated, kindly, dutiful, than Hugh?"
"I don't wish to analyze his character; probably we shouldn't altogether agree in our judgment; but it is enough that I don't feel in the least attracted by him, and that I could not love him, if he were all that you imagine."
"Then you love another!" said Mrs. Kinloch, fiercely.
Mildred was excessively agitated; but, though her knees trembled, her voice was clear and soft as it had been. "Yes, I do love another; and I don't hesitate to avow it."
"That blacksmith's upstart?" in a still louder key.
"You mean Mark Davenport, probably, who deserves more respectful language."
"Brought up in coal-dust,—the spoiled and forward pet of a foolish old stutterer, who depends for his bread on his dirty work, and who, if he had only his own, would have to leave even the hovel he works in." It was fearful to see how these contemptuous words were hissed out by the infuriated woman.
Mildred was courageous, but she had not passed through the discipline that had developed her step-mother's faculties. So she burst into tears, saying, amidst her sobs, that Mark was allowed by all who knew him to be a young man of promise; that, for herself, she didn't care how much coal-dust he had been through,—that would wash off; that, at any rate, she loved him, and would never marry anybody else.
Mrs. Kinloch began to consider. Anger had whirled her away once; a second explosion might create an irreparable breach between them.
"Don't lay up what I have said, Mildred," she urged, in a mild voice. "If I object to your choice, it is because I am proud of you and want you to look high. You can marry whom you choose; no rank or station need be considered above you. Come, don't cry, dear!"
But Mildred refused to be soothed. She could not sympathize with the tropical nature, that smiled like sunshine at one moment, and the next burst into the fury of a tornado. She pushed off the beseeching hand, turned from the offered endearments, and, with reddened, tear-stained face, left the room.
Hugh presently passed through the hall. "Well, mother," said he, "I suppose you think you've done it now."
"Go about your business, you foolish boy!" she retorted. "Go and try something that you do know about. You can snare a partridge, or shoot a woodcock, perhaps!"
CHAPTER XIII
Mildred had now no peace; after what had happened, she could not meet Hugh and his mother with any composure. The scheming woman had risked everything in the appeal she made to her daughter,—risked everything, and lost. Nothing could restore harmony; neither could forget the struggle and live the old quiet life. Mrs. Kinloch, always pursued by anxiety, was one day full of courage, fruitful in plans and resources, and the next day cast down into the pit of despair. Now she clung to her first hope, believing that time, patience, kindness, would soften Mildred's resolution; then, seeing the blank indifference with which she treated Hugh, she racked her invention to provide other means of attaining her end.
Again, the thought of her inexplicable loss came over her, and she was frightened to madness; creeping chills alternating with cold sweats tortured her. It was a mystery she could not penetrate. She could not but implicate Lucy: but then Lucy might be in her grave. After every circumstance had passed in review, her suspicions inevitably returned and fastened upon her lawyer, Clamp. She almost wished he would come to see her again; for he, being naturally sulky at his first reception, had left the haughty woman severely alone. She determined to send for him, on business, and then to try her fascinations upon him, to draw him out, and see if he held her secret.
"Aha!" thought the Squire, as he received the message, "she comes to her senses! Give a woman like Mrs. Kinloch time enough to consider, and she will not turn her back on her true interest. O Theophilus, you are not by any means a fool! Slow and steady, slow and steady you go! Let the frisky woman appear to have her way,—you will win in the end!"
The wig and best suit were brushed anew, water was brought into requisition for the visible portions of his person, and, with his most engaging expression arranged upon his parchment face, he presented himself before the widow.
There was a skirmish of small talk, during which Mr. Clamp was placid and self-conscious, while his vis-à-vis, though smiling and apparently at ease, was yet alert and excited,—darting furtive glances, that would have startled him like flashes of sunlight reflected from a mirror, if he had not been shielded by his own self-complacency.
"You-have-sent-for-me-on-business,-I-believe," said the lawyer, in a tone continuous and bland as a stream of honey.
"Yes, Sir; I have great confidence in your judgment, and I know that you are devoted to the interests of our family. My poor husband always esteemed you highly."
"Oh, Ma'am! you do me honor!"
"If I have not consulted you about our affairs of late, it is because I have had troubles which I did not wish to burden you with."
"We all have our troubles, Mrs. Kinloch."
"They are very sad to bear,—but profitable, nevertheless.
"But I'm sure you must be wonderfully supported in your trials; I never saw you looking better."
And truly, her thin and mobile lips were of a strangely bright coral, and her usually wan cheeks wore a delicate flush, lending her a beauty, not youthful, to be sure, but yet fascinating. One might desire to see an eye less intense and restless, but he would rarely see a woman of forty so charming.
"You notice my color," said Mrs. Kinloch, mournfully, and with a faint smile; "it's only the effect of a headache. I am far enough from well."
"Indeed!" was the sympathetic reply.
"I have met with a great loss, Mr. Clamp,—some papers of the greatest importance. I was going to consult you about them."
"In which I got ahead of you," thought he.
"Now, ever since the disappearance of Lucy, I have thought she had something to do with them. I never went to the secretary, but she was sure to be spying about. And I believe she knew about my affairs as well as I do myself."
"Or I," mentally ejaculated the lawyer,—meanwhile keeping as close as an oyster.
She continued,—"As the girl was ignorant, and without any interest in the matter more than that of curiosity, I am puzzled to account for all this."
"'Tis strange, truly!"
"Yes,
