“But Maria, mother,” replied the generous young man; “Maria—­” and he looked imploringly and affectionately into her face.

“Maria will have an ample portion; I have taken care of that.  I will not leave my property to those who are strangers to my blood, as a son-in-law must be.  No, Charles, you shall have my property.  As for Harry, as I said before, he won’t stand in need of it.”

“Of course you saw Miss Riddle to-day, mother?” asked.  Harry.

“I did.”

“Of course, too, you mentioned the matter to her?”

“To be sure I did.”

“And what did she say?”

“Why, I think she acted just as every delicate-minded girl ought.  I told her you would have the honor of proposing to herself in person.  She heard me, and did not utter a syllable either for or against you.  What else should any lady do?  You would not have her jump at you, would you?  Nothing, however, could be kinder or more gracious than the reception she gave me.”

“Certainly not, mother; to give her consent before she was solicited would not be exactly the thing; but the uncle is willing?”

“Upon the conditions I said; but his niece is to know nothing of these conditions:  so be cautious when you see her.”

“I don’t know how it is,” replied Harry; “I have been thinking our last interview over; but it strikes me there is, notwithstanding her courtesy of manner, a hard, dry air about her which it is difficult to penetrate.  It seems to me as if it were no easy task to ascertain whether she is in jest or earnest.  Her eye is too calm and reflecting for my taste.”

“But,” replied his mother, “those, surely, are two good qualities in any woman, especially in her whom you expect to become your wife.”

“Perhaps so,” said he;’"but she is not my wife yet, my dear mother.”

“I wish she was, Harry,” observed his brother, “for by all accounts she is an excellent girl, and remarkable for her charity and humanity to the poor.”

His mother and Harry then left the room, and both went to her own apartment, where the following conversation took place between them: 

“Harry,” said she, “I hope you are not angry at the determination I expressed to leave my property to Charles should he recover?”

“Why should I, my dear mother?” he replied; “your property is your own, and of course you may leave it to whomsoever you wish.  At all events, it will remain in your own family, and won’t go to strangers, like that of my scoundrel old uncle.”

“Don’t speak so, Harry, of my brother; silly, besotted, and overreached he was when he acted as he did; but he never was a scoundrel, Harry.”

“Well, well, let that pass,” replied her son; “but the question now is, What am I to do?  What step should I first take?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Why, I mean whether should I start directly for Ballyspellan and put this puling girl out of pain, or go in a day or two and put the question at once to Miss Riddle, against whom, somehow, I feel a strong antipathy.”