ever to express
a regret, or even allude to the circumstances. It had therefore made a
very faint impression on the minds of any of his family, and in the long
lapse of years had been almost forgot by Mrs. Lennox, till recalled by
Lady Maclaughlan's letter. But she had been silent on the subject to
Mary; for she could not conceal from herself that her husband had been
to blame--that the heat and violence of his temper had often led him to
provoke and exasperate where mildness and forbearance would have soothed
and conciliated, without detracting from his dignity; but her gentle
heart shrank from the task of unnecessarily disclosing the faults of
the man she had loved; and then she heard Mary talk with rapture of the
wild beauties of Lochmarlie, she had only sighed to think that the pride
and prejudice of others had alienated the inheritance of her son.

But all this Mary was still in ignorance of, for Miss Grizzy had gone
completely astray in the attempt to trace the rise and progress of the
Lennox and Maclaughlan feud. Happily Lady Maclauglan's entrance
extricated her from her labyrinth, as it as the signal for her to repair
to Sir Sampson. Mary, in some little confusion, was beginning to express
to her Ladyship regret at hearing that Sir Sampson had been so unwell,
when she was stopped.

"My dear child, don't learn to tell lies. You don't care two pence for
Sir Sampson. I know all. You are going to be married to Charles Lennox.
I'm glad of it. I wished you to marry him. Whether you'll thank me for
that twenty years hence, _I_ can't tell--you can't tell--he can't
tell--God knows--humph! Your aunts will tell you he is Beelzebub,
because his father said he could make a Sir Sampson out of a mouldy
lemon. Perhaps he could. I don't know but your aunts are fools. You know
what fools are, and so do I. There are plenty of fools in the world; but
if they had not been sent for some wise purpose they wouldn't have been
here; and since they are here they have as good a right to have
elbow-room in the world as the wisest. Sir Sampson hated General Lennox
because he laughed at him; and if Sir Sampson had lived a hundred years
ago, his hatred might have been a fine thing to talk about now. It is
the same passion that makes heroes of your De Montforts, and your
Manuels, and your Corsairs, and all the rest of them; but they wore
cloaks and daggers, and these are the supporters of hatred. Everybody
laughs at the hatred of a little old