aite."

"Certainly, Sir Harry; but I hope, Sir Harry, that you will return
with the settled conviction on your mind that this young man must not
on any consideration be allowed to enter your family."

The lawyer meant well, but he overdid his work. Sir Harry got up and
shook hands with him and thanked him, but left the room with some
sense of offence. He had come to Mr. Boltby for information, and
he had received it. But he was not quite sure that he had intended
that Mr. Boltby should advise him touching his management of his
own daughter. Mr. Boltby, he thought, had gone a little beyond his
tether. Sir Harry acknowledged to himself that he had learned a great
deal about his cousin, and it was for him to judge after that whether
he would receive his cousin at Humblethwaite. Mr. Boltby should not
have spoken about the crossing-sweeper. And then Sir Harry was not
quite sure that he liked that idea of setting vultures upon a man;
and Sir Harry remembered something of his old lore as a hunting man.
It is astonishing what blood will do in bringing a horse through mud
at the end of a long day. Mr. Boltby probably did not understand how
much, at the very last, might be expected from breeding. When Sir
Harry left Mr. Boltby's chambers he was almost better-minded towards
Cousin George than he had been when he entered them; and in this
frame of mind, both for and against the young man, he returned to
Humblethwaite. It must not be supposed, however, that as the result
of the whole he was prepared to yield. He knew, beyond all doubt,
that his cousin was thoroughly a bad subject,--a worthless and, as
he believed, an irredeemable scamp; but yet he thought of what might
happen if he were to yield!

Things were very sombre when he reached Humblethwaite. Of course
his wife could not refrain from questions. "It is very bad," he
said,--"as bad as can be."

"He has gambled?"

"Gambled! If that were all! You had better not ask about it; he is a
disgrace to the family."

"Then there can be no hope for Emily?"

"No hope! Why should there not be hope? All her life need not depend
on her fancy for a man of whom after all she has not seen so very
much. She must get over it. Other girls have had to do the same."

"She is not like other girls, Harry."

"How not like them?"

"I think she is more persistent; she has set her heart upon loving
this young man, and she will love him."

"Then she must."

"She will break her heart," said