“Yes, Harry, I am so.”

“Of such a sedate temper as you are, should not recollect the possibility of my mother, who sometimes takes up impressions hastily, if not erroneously—­as the calmest of us too frequently do—­of my mother, I say, considerably mistaking and unconsciously misrepresenting the circumstances I mentioned to her.”

“But why did you mention them exclusively to her?” asked Charles; “I cannot see your object in concealing them from the rest of the family, especially from those who were most interested in the knowledge of them.”

“Simply because I had nothing actually decisive to mention.  I principally confined myself to my own inferences, which unfortunately my mother, with her eager habit of snatching at conclusions, in this instance, mistook for facts.  I shall satisfy you, Charles, of this, and of other matters besides; but we will require time.”

“I assure you, Harry, that if your mother does not keep her temper within some reasonable bounds, either she or I shall leave the house—­and I am not likely to be the man to do so.”

“This house is mine, Lindsay, and the property is mine—­both in my own right; and you and your family may leave it as soon as you like.”

“But you forget that I have property enough to support myself and them independently of you.”

“Wherever you go, my dear papa,” said Maria, bursting into tears, “I will accompany you.  I admit it is a painful determination for a daughter to be forced to make against her own mother; but it is one I should have died sooner than come to if she had ever treated me as a daughter.”

Her good-natured and affectionate father took her in his arms and kissed her.

“My own darling Maria,” said he, “I could forgive your mother all her domestic violence and outrage had she acted with the affection of a mother towards you.  She has a heart only for one individual, and that is her son Harry, there.”

“As for me,” said Charles, “wherever my father goes, I, too, my dear Maria, will accompany him.”

“You hear that, Harry,” said Mrs. Lindsay; “you see now they are in a league—­in a conspiracy against your happiness and mine;—­but think of their selfishness and cunning—­it is the girl’s property they want.”

“Perish the property,” exclaimed Charles indignantly.  “I will now mention a fact which I have hitherto never breathed—­Alice Goodwin and I were, I may say, betrothed before ever she dreamed of possessing it; and if I held back since that time, I did so from the principles of a man of honor, lest she might imagine that I renewed our intimacy, after the alienation of the families, from mercenary motives.”

“You’re a fine fellow, Charley,” said his father; “you’re a fine fellow, and you deserve her and her property, if it was ten times what it is.”

“Don’t you be disheartened, Harry,” said his mother; “I have a better wife in my eye for you—­a wife that will bring you connection, and that is Lord Bilberry’s niece.”