gan to hate with the fierceness of a deserted
heart, for having taken her place as the mother of her only child. She
felt confidently enough that her son would only too gladly exchange a
cottage-mother for one who was a peeress of the realm. Being now, in her
widowhood, free to come and go as she chose, without question from
anybody, Lady Stonehenge started next day for the little town where Milly
yet lived, still in her robes of sable for the lost lover of her youth.

'He is _my_ son,' said the Marchioness, as soon as she was alone in the
cottage with Milly. 'You must give him back to me, now that I am in a
position in which I can defy the world's opinion. I suppose he comes to
see you continually?'

'Every month since he returned from the war, my lady. And sometimes he
stays two or three days, and takes me about seeing sights everywhere!'
She spoke with quiet triumph.

'Well, you will have to give him up,' said the Marchioness calmly. 'It
shall not be the worse for you--you may see him when you choose. I am
going to avow my first marriage, and have him with me.'

'You forget that there are two to be reckoned with, my lady. Not only
me, but himself.'

'That can be arranged. You don't suppose that he wouldn't--' But not
wishing to insult Milly by comparing their positions, she said, 'He is my
own flesh and blood, not yours.'

'Flesh and blood's nothing!' said Milly, flashing with as much scorn as a
cottager could show to a peeress, which, in this case, was not so little
as may be supposed. 'But I will agree to put it to him, and let him
settle it for himself.'

'That's all I require,' said Lady Stonehenge. 'You must ask him to come,
and I will meet him here.'

The soldier was written to, and the meeting took place. He was not so
much astonished at the disclosure of his parentage as Lady Stonehenge had
been led to expect, having known for years that there was a little
mystery about his birth. His manner towards the Marchioness, though
respectful, was less warm than she could have hoped. The alternatives as
to his choice of a mother were put before him. His answer amazed and
stupefied her.

'No, my lady,' he said. 'Thank you much, but I prefer to let things be
as they have been. My father's name is mine in any case. You see, my
lady, you cared little for me when I was weak and helpless; why should I
come to you now I am strong? She, dear devoted soul [pointing to Milly],
tended me from my bi