“I have frequently heard of him, madam,” said Mr Brandon.

“And I wish I never had,” said she.  “Well, he was travelling most of the time, a thing my sister couldn’t do; but he came here then and stayed, off and on, till she died.  And not long afterward, just because I told him that I intended to consider the child as my child, and that she should have the name of Keswick instead of his name, and should know me as her mother, and live with me always, he got angry and flared up, and actually took the child away.  I gave it to him hot, I can tell you, before he left, and I never saw him again.  He was so eaten up with rage because I wanted to take the little Annie for my own, that he filled her mind with such prejudices against me that when he died a year or two ago, she actually went to work to get her own living instead of applying to me for help.  But now she has come down here, and I was really filled with joy to have her again and carry out the plan on which my heart had long been set—­that is to marry her to her cousin Junius, and let them have this farm when I am gone,——?”

At this Mr Brandon raised his eyebrows, and lowered the corners of his mouth.

“But I suddenly discover,” continued the old, lady, “that the little wretch is married—­actually married.”

At this Mr Brandon lowered his eyebrows and raised the corners of his mouth.  “Did her husband come with her?” he asked, pleasantly.  And he gave a few long, free breaths as if he had just passed in safety a very dangerous and unsuspected rock.

“No, he didn’t,” replied the old lady.  “I don’t know where he is, and, from what I can make out, he is an utterly good-for-nothing fellow, allowing his wife to go where she pleases, and take care of herself.  Now this abominable marriage stands square in the way of the plan which again rose up in my mind the moment I heard that the girl was in my house.  If Junius and she should marry, there would be no more dangers for me to look out for.”

“But the existence of a husband,” said Mr Brandon blandly, “puts an end to all thoughts of such an alliance.”

“No it don’t,” said the old lady, bringing her umbrella down with force on the porch.  “Not a bit of it.  Such an outrageous marriage should not be suffered to exist.  They should be divorced.  He does nothing for her, and neglects and deserts her absolutely.  There’s every ground for a divorce, or enough grounds, at any rate.  All that’s necessary is for a lawyer to take it up.  I don’t know any lawyers, and when I saw you riding up from the road gate I said to myself:  ’Here’s the very man I want,—­and it’s full time I should get something from people who have taken nearly everything from me.’”

Mr Brandon bowed.

“And now,” continued the old lady, “I am going to put the case into your hands.  The man is, evidently, a good-for-nothing scoundrel, and has probably spent the little money that her miserable father left her.  It’s a clear case of desertion, and there should be no trouble at all in getting the divorce.”