ly:--"And I must do
this, or it will end in misery? How else can it end? Can I save him from
the seed he has sown? Consider, Emmeline, what you say. He has repeated
his cousin's sin. You see the end of that."

"Oh, so different! This young person is not, is not of the class poor
Austin Wentworth allied himself to. Indeed it is different. And he--be
just and admit his nobleness. I fancied you did. This young person
has great beauty, she has the elements of good breeding, she--indeed I
think, had she been in another position, you would not have looked upon
her unfavourably."

"She may be too good for my son!" The baronet spoke with sublime
bitterness.

"No woman is too good for Richard, and you know it."

"Pass her."

"Yes, I will speak only of him. He met her by a fatal accident. We
thought his love dead, and so did he till he saw her again. He met her,
he thought we were plotting against him, he thought he should lose her
for ever, and is the madness of an hour he did this...."

"My Emmeline pleads bravely for clandestine matches."

"Ah! do not trifle, my friend. Say: would you have had him act as young
men in his position generally do to young women beneath them?"

Sir Austin did not like the question. It probed him very severely.

"You mean," he said, "that fathers must fold their arms, and either
submit to infamous marriages, or have these creatures ruined."

"I do not mean that," exclaimed the lady, striving for what she did
mean, and how to express it. "I mean that he loved her. Is it not
a madness at his age? But what I chiefly mean is--save him from the
consequences. No, you shall not withdraw your hand. Think of his pride,
his sensitiveness, his great wild nature--wild when he is set wrong:
think how intense it is, set upon love; think, my friend, do not forget
his love for you."

Sir Austin smiled an admirable smile of pity.

"That I should save him, or any one, from consequences, is asking more
than the order of things will allow to you, Emmeline, and is not in
the disposition of this world. I cannot. Consequences are the natural
offspring of acts. My child, you are talking sentiment, which is
the distraction of our modern age in everything--a phantasmal vapour
distorting the image of the life we live. You ask me to give him a
golden age in spite of himself. All that could be done, by keeping him
in the paths of virtue and truth, I did. He is become a man, and as a
man he must reap his own sowin