ly a long time, while Clotilda sat knitting him a comforter,
and finished the evening with a desultory discourse on the beauties
and merits of his never-forgotten Mabel.

CHAPTER XIII.

Revenged!
How should I be revenged? If this be true,
As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse--if it be true,
How should I be revenged?

SHAKSPEARE.

The emotion experienced by Esther Pendarrel, when the heir of
Trevethlan confronted her with the avowal of his name, was by no means
of unmitigated animosity. Many a tender recollection arose in her
mind, as she gazed, fascinated, upon features so strongly recalling
those which, in days long gone, she had stored up in her heart of
hearts. The remembrance of her affection prevailed for a moment over
her sense of wrong and desire for retribution. But it was only for a
moment. She saw the flushed face of her daughter, and the shrinking
demeanour of her husband. The first she noted with alarm, the second
with disgust. Her feelings recoiled upon the son of her discarded
suitor. That he should be an object of interest to her child, and of
fear or reproach to her lord, made him the more odious to herself.

"Morton," she might have said in the solitude of her chamber at
night--"Randolph Morton! Seeking the fortune so recklessly thrown
away! Hoping that the successful advocate would repair the ruin of
Trevethlan Castle! And such things are possible. Many a new family
dates its origin from the forum. Might not an old one, in like manner,
retrieve its fall? But why the feigned name? Was it the old pride?
Oh, Henry, Henry Trevethlan! that pride has brought desolation to thee
and to me--to thine, and, perhaps, to mine. Was there not passion in
those burning cheeks, and in that quivering arm?

"And so we are face to face. Foes, irreconcileable, to war to the
death. What was the dark hint which flashed across my mind? Who said
there was no marriage?"

When Michael Sinson first let fall the insinuation which here rose to
the mind of his patroness, the natural generosity of her disposition
revolted from the suggestion. But it recurred again and again. There
was strong temptation in the idea which it excited. Were it true, at
one swoop that peasant woman, whom Mrs. Pendarrel had learned to hate,
would be shamed, her son and daughter would be fatherless in an
odious sense, their inheritance