, succeed to the earldom, and then what an alliance
would this be!'

'Earldom! I'd not have it. I'd trample on the coronet. Gingerbread!
I'd trample it in the mud, if it were to sever me from Winifred.'

'You must succeed to it should Cyril Aylwin, who seems disinclined to
marry, die childless,' said my mother quietly; 'and by that time you
may perhaps have reached man's estate.'

'Pity, mother, pity!' I cried in despair, as I looked at the strong
woman who bore me.

'Pity upon whom? Have pity upon me, and upon the family you now
represent. As to all the fearful effects that the knowledge of this
sacrilege will have upon the girl, _that_ is a subject upon which you
must allow me to have my own opinion. God tempers the wind to the
shorn lamb, and provides thick skins for the _canaille_. What will
concern her chiefly, perhaps entirely, will be the loss of her
father, and she will soon know of that, whether she finds the body on
the sands or not. This kind of person is not nearly so sensitive as
my romantic Henry supposes. However, my condition will not be
departed from. If you consent to give up this girl I will go on the
sands; I will defile my fingers; I will secure the stolen amulet at
the ebb of the tide, should the corpse become exposed. If you will
_not_ consent to give her up, there is an end of the matter, and
words are being wasted between us.'

'Give up Winifred, mother? That is not possible.'

'Then there is no more to be said. We will not waste our time in
discussing impossibilities. And I am really so depressed and unwell
that I must return to my room. I hope to hear you are better in the
morning, and I think you will be. The excitement of this night and
your anxiety about the girl have unstrung your nerves, and you have
lost that courage and endurance which are yours by birthright.'

And she left the room.

But she had no sooner gone than there came before my eyes the
insupportable picture of a slim figure walking along the sands
stooping to look at some object among the _debris_, standing aghast
at the sight of her dead father with the evidence of his hideous
crime on his own breast; there came the sound of a cry to 'Henry' for
help! I beat my head against the bedstead till I was nearly stunned.
I yelled and bellowed like a maniac: 'Mother, come back!'

When she returned to my bedside my eyes were glaring so that my
mother stood appalled, and (as she afterwards owned to me) was nearly
yielding h