"I want you to promise me, Hubert," she whispered, "that if anything
should ever happen to me, you will not think of even searching for
Jessie Bain, in order to marry her."

He dropped the white, jeweled hands he held, and looked at her in grave
apprehension, a troubled look in his earnest eyes.

"I wish I could promise what you ask, mother," he said; "but
unfortunately, I-- I can not; it is too late! I have already searched
for Jessie Bain, and found her, and have offered her my heart and hand."

A low cry from his mother arrested the words on his lips.

"I knew it-- I feared it!" cried Mrs. Varrick, beating the air
distressedly with her jeweled hands. "But it must not be, Hubert."

"It is too late for interference now, mother; the fiat has gone forth."

Still she looked at him with dilated eyes.

"Would you marry her against my will?" she gasped, looking at him with a
gaze which he never liked to remember in the years that followed.

"Do not force me to answer at such a time, mother," he said,
distressedly. "I could not tell you a falsehood, and the truth might be
unpleasant for you to hear."

"She will not marry you!" cried Mrs. Varrick. "I know a very good reason
why she will not."

A smile curved the corners of her son's mobile lips, and he drew from
his pocket the precious missive and held it up before her.

"I do not know of any reason why I should keep anything from you,
mother," he said. "This letter is Jessie's acceptance."

A grayish pallor stole over Mrs. Varrick's face.

Even in death--for she supposed herself to be dying--the ruling passion
that had taken possession of her life, was still strong within her.

Her idolized son must never make such a _mes-alliance_ as to marry
Jessie Bain--a girl so far beneath him.

"I have not as yet read its contents," continued Hubert. "If you like,
mother, I will read it aloud to you, and upon reflection, when you see
how well we love each other, you will realize how cruel it would be to
attempt to tear our lives asunder. I am pledged to her, mother, by the
most solemn vows a man can make; and though I love you dearly, mother,
not even for your sake will I give her up. Only a craven lover would
stoop to that. A man's deepest and truest love is given to the woman
whom he would make his wife. His affection for his mother comes next."

Mrs. Varrick was too overcome for speech by the angry tempest that raged
in her soul.

By this time Hubert Varrick had