orld, I would far rather see you dead on this floor, than see
you marry Winifred Wynne.'

'Ah! mother, the cruelty of this family pride has always been the
curse of the Aylwins.'

'It seems cruel to you now, because you are a boy, a generous boy.
You think it the romantic, poetic thing to elevate a low girl to your
own station--perhaps even to show your superiority to conventions by
marrying the daughter of the miscreant who has desecrated your own
father's tomb. But, Henry, I know the race to which you and I belong.
In five years' time--in three years, or perhaps in two--you will
thank me for this; you will say: "My mother's love was not cruel, but
wise."'

'Oh, mother!' I said, '_any_ condition but that.'

'I see that you know what my condition is before I utter it. If you
will give me your word--and the word of an Aylwin is an oath--if you
will give me your word that you will never marry Winifred Wynne, I
will do as you desire. I will myself go upon the sands in the
morning, and if the body has been exposed by the tide I will secure
the evidence of her father's guilt, in order to save the girl from
the suffering which the knowledge of that guilt would cause her, as
you suppose.'

'As I suppose!'

'Again I say, Henry, we will not quarrel about words.'

I turned sick with despair.

'And on no other terms, mother?'

'On no other terms,' said she.

'Oh, mercy, mother! mercy! you know not what you do. I could not live
without her; I should die without her.'

'Better die then!' exclaimed my mother, with an expression of
ineffable scorn, and losing for the first time her self-possession;
'better die than marry like that.'

'She is my very life now, mother.'

'Have I not said you had better die then? On no other terms will I go
on those sands. But I tell you frankly what I think about this
matter. I think that you absurdly exaggerate the effect the knowledge
of her father's crime will have upon the girl.'

'No, no; I do not. Mercy, dear mother, mercy! I am your only child.'

'That is the very reason why you, who may some day be the heir of one
of the first houses in England, must never marry Winifred Wynne.'

'But I don't want to be heir of the Aylwins; I don't want my uncle's
property,' I retorted. 'Nor do I want the other bauble prizes of the
Aylwins.'

'Providence has taken Frank, and says you must stand where you
stand,' replied my mother solemnly. 'You may even some day, should
Cyril be childless