from that day to this nothing has been heard of Mountjoy, nothing is known to the police of what may have been his fate;—­even stranger, he may have perished under the usage which he received, yet Mr. Annesley has not thought it right to say a word of what had occurred.  He has not dared even to tell an inspector of police the events of that night.  And the young man was your own cousin, to whom you were known to have been promised for the last two years.”

“No, no!” said Florence.

“I say that it was so.  You were promised to your cousin, Mountjoy Scarborough.”

“Not with my own consent.”

“All your friends,—­your natural friends,—­knew that it was to be so.  And now you expect me to take by the hand this young man who has almost been his murderer!”

“No, mamma, it is not true.  You do not know the circumstances, and you assert things which are directly at variance with the truth.”

“From whom do you get your information?  From the young man himself.  Is that likely to be true?  What would Sir Magnus say as to that were I to tell him?”

“I do not know what he would say, but I do know what is the truth.  And can you think it possible that I should now be willing to accept this foolish young man in order thus to put an end to my embarrassments?”

Then she left her mother’s room, and, retreating to her own, sat for a couple of hours thinking, partly in anger and partly in grief, of the troubles of her situation.  Her mother had now, in truth, frightened her as to Harry’s position.  She did begin to see what men might say of him, and the way in which they might speak of his silence, though she was resolved to be as true to him in her faith as ever.  Some exertion of spirit would, indeed, be necessary.  She was beginning to understand in what way the outside world might talk of Harry Annesley, of the man to whom she had given herself and her whole heart.  Then her mother was right.  And as she thought of it she began to justify her mother.  It was natural that her mother should believe the story which had been told to her, let it have come from where it might.  There was in her mind some suspicion of the truth.  She acknowledged a great animosity to her cousin Augustus, and regarded him as one of the causes of her unhappiness.  But she knew nothing of the real facts; she did not even suspect that Augustus had seen his brother after Harry had dealt with him, or that he was responsible for his brother’s absence.  But she knew that she disliked him, and in some way she connected his name with Harry’s misfortune.