and white by turns, but said nothing.

Bartley went on: "You are a good child, and I have always trusted you. I
am sure you mean no harm. But you must be more discreet. I have just
heard that you and that young man are looked upon as engaged lovers. They
say it is all over the village. Of course a father is the last to hear
these things. Does Mrs. Easton know of this?"

"Oh yes, papa, and approves it."

"Stupid old woman! She ought to be ashamed of herself."

"Oh, papa!" said Mary, in deep distress; "why, what objection can there
be to Cousin Walter?"

"None whatever as a cousin, but every objection to intimacy. Does he
court you?"

"I don't know, papa. I suppose he does."

"Does he seek your love?"

"He does not say so exactly."

"Come, Mary, you have never deceived me. Does he love you?"

"I am afraid he does; and if you reject him he will be very unhappy. And
so shall I."

"I am truly sorry to hear it, Mary, for there are reasons why I can not
consent to an engagement between him and you."

"What reasons, papa?"

"It would not be proper to disclose my reasons; but I hope, Mary, that it
will be enough to say that Colonel Clifford has other views for his son,
and I have other views for my daughter. Do you think a blessing will
attend you or him if you defy both fathers?"

"No, no," said poor Mary. "We have been hasty and very foolish. But, oh,
papa, have you not seen from the first? Oh, why did you not warn me in
time? Then I could have obeyed you easily. Now it will cost me the
happiness of my life. We are very unfortunate. Poor Walter! He left me so
full of hope. What shall I do? what shall I do?"

It was Mary Bartley's first grief. She thought all chance of happiness
was gone forever, and she wept bitterly for Walter and herself.

Bartley was not unmoved, but he could not change his nature. The sum he
had obtained by a crime was dearer to him than all his more honest gains.
He was kind on the surface, but hard as marble.

"Go to your room, my child," said he, "and try and compose yourself. I
am not angry with you. I ought to have watched you. But you are so young,
and I trusted to that woman."

Mary retired, sobbing, and he sent for Mrs. Easton.

"Mrs. Easton," said he, "for the first time in all these years I have a
fault to find with you."

"What is that, sir, if you please?"

"Young Clifford has been courting that child, and you have
encouraged it."

"Nay, sir," said the woman, "I ha