“Was my presence required at home, sir?” asked Algernon, in a tone of surprise, at the same time pulling out his watch.  “It is not late.  Just ten o’clock.”

“Late or not late, that is not now the question.  I have to ask you—­I insist upon your telling me—­at what house in this neighborhood you spend your time?”

There was an ominous pause.  Mark smiled sarcastically, but seemed to watch intently for his brother’s reply; while the old man’s fierce eye glared with tiger-like ferocity upon his younger son.

Algernon at last spoke, and as he did so, he raised his head proudly, and firmly encountered his father’s keen gaze.

“I see how it is, sir; my actions have been watched and my motives misapprehended.  But I shall not attempt to deny the truth.  My visits have been to the house of Mrs. Wildegrave.  She has a beautiful and virtuous daughter, whom I mean to make my wife.”

“The traitor Wildegrave!—­his child?”

“The same.”

“And you dare tell me this to my face?”

“I never do that behind your back, that I would be ashamed to own to your face.”

“Impudent scoundrel!  Do you know in what manner the father of this beautiful and virtuous young lady met his death?”

“As many brave and unfortunate gentlemen did; who, had their cause been successful, would have been praised for their gallantry by the very persons who now condemn them.”

“And you expect me to give my consent to this accursed marriage?”

“I neither expect, nor ask it from you.”

“By heaven, you shall never have it! nor one farthing of mine, without you promise to relinquish all idea of this disgraceful connection.”

“I must leave that to your own sense of justice.  I have pledged my solemn word to Miss Wildegrave to make her my wife.  I cannot break my word without forfeiting my own self-respect.”

“Then it appears to me that my approbation to a measure, which so deeply concerns the honor and respectability of my family, was a matter of no consequence to my son.”

“Indeed, my dear father, I would cheerfully have consulted you upon the subject had I not been aware of the strong prejudice with which you regard all those who were in any way connected with that unfortunate rebellion.  In Miss Wildegrave’s case, I knew my application would be worse than fruitless.”

“And you knew this, and yet dared to persist in your folly?”

“I did.  Because I loved the young lady; and felt that I never could be happy without her.”

“And with her I am determined that you never shall be happy.  It was my intention, at my decease, to have bequeathed to you the manor of Worden, with its fine old hall, and the noble woods by which it is surrounded; but as you mean to please yourself in the choice of a wife, I shall take the same privilege in the choice of my heirs.  Here you have no longer a home.  You may leave the Hall to-morrow, and earn a fortune for yourself and your bride.  You have ceased to be my son.  I never wish to see your face again.”