cause he trusted her
implicitly; but she was to understand that it could mean nothing to
her, and that the letter must not of course be answered.

"It does not matter whether she did or did not," said Sir Harry.
"I ask you again, whether you will accept the offer made you by Mr.
Boltby, and give me your written promise not to renew this suit."

"I cannot do that, Sir Harry."

Sir Harry did not know how to proceed with the interview. As he had
come there, some proposition must be made by himself. Had he intended
to be altogether obstinate he should have remained at Humblethwaite,
and kept his cousin altogether out of the house. And now his
daughter's prayers were ringing in his ears: "Dear Papa, let us see
if we cannot try." And then again that assurance which she had made
him so solemnly: "Papa, there never can be anybody else!" If the
black sheep could be washed white, the good of such washing would on
every side be so great! He would have to blush,--let the washing be
ever so perfect,--he must always blush in having such a son-in-law;
but he had been forced to acknowledge to himself of late, that there
was infinitely more of trouble and shame in this world than of joy or
honour. Was it not in itself a disgrace that a Hotspur should do such
things as this cousin had done; and a disgrace also that his daughter
should have loved a man so unfit to be her lover? And then from day
to day, and from hour to hour, he remembered that these ills were
added to the death of that son, who, had he lived, would have been
such a glory to him. More of trouble and disgrace! Was it not all
trouble and disgrace? He would have wished that the day might come
for him to go away and leave it all, were it not that for one
placed as he was placed his own life would not see the end of these
troubles. He must endeavour to provide that everything should not go
to utter ruin as soon as he should have taken his departure.

He walked about the room, again trying to think. Or, perhaps, all
thinking was over with him now, and he was resolving in his own mind
how best he might begin to yield. He must obey his daughter. He could
not break the heart of the only child that was left to him. He had no
delight in the world other than what came to him reflected back from
her. He felt now as though he was simply a steward endeavouring on
her behalf to manage things to the best advantage; but still only a
steward, and as such only a servant who could not at