e of yours.
I knew your mother well, and she knew me. Both of us had been
tried--by trouble which we shared together, by absence, by many and
various cares. We chose one another, not hastily or blindly, but with
free will and open eyes. No, Guy," he added, speaking earnestly and
softly, "mine was no sudden fancy, no frantic passion. I honoured your
mother above all women. I loved her as my own soul."

"So do I love Louise. I would die for her any day."

At the son's impetuosity the father smiled; not incredulously, only
sadly.

All this while the mother had sat motionless, never uttering a sound.
Suddenly, hearing a footstep and a light knock at the door, she darted
forward and locked it, crying, in a voice that one could hardly have
recognized as hers--

"No admittance! Go away."

A note was pushed in under the door. Mrs. Halifax picked it up--opened
it, read it mechanically, and sat down again; taking no notice, even
when Guy, catching sight of the hand-writing, eagerly seized the paper.

It was merely a line, stating Miss Silver's wish to leave Beechwood
immediately; signed, with her full name--her right name--"Louise
Eugenie D'Argent."

A postscript added: "Your silence I shall take as permission to
depart; and shall be gone early to-morrow."

"To-morrow! Gone to-morrow! And she does not even know that--that I
love her. Mother, you have ruined my happiness. I will never forgive
you--never!"

Never forgive his mother! His mother, who had borne him, nursed him,
reared him; who had loved him with that love--like none other in the
world--the love of a woman for her firstborn son, all these twenty-one
years!

It was hard. I think the most passionate lover, in reasonable moments,
would allow that it was hard. No marvel that even her husband's clasp
could not remove the look of heart-broken, speechless suffering which
settled stonily down in Ursula's face, as she watched her boy--storming
about, furious with uncontrollable passion and pain.

At last, mother-like, she forgot the passion in pity of the pain.

"He is not strong yet; he will do himself harm. Let me go to him!
John, let me!" Her husband released her.

Faintly, with a weak, uncertain walk, she went up to Guy and touched
his arm.

"You must keep quiet, or you will be ill. I cannot have my son
ill--not for any girl. Come, sit down--here, beside your mother."

She was obeyed. Looking into her eyes, and seeing no anger there,