Elinor knew that the brothers had not parted friends, nor was she ignorant of the cause of the quarrel; but she was willing to believe, from what she heard and saw of Mark Hurdlestone, that he was less in fault than he had been represented to her by Algernon; and the hope of bringing about a reconciliation, and by so doing, shorten her lover’s period of exile, took a lively hold of her imagination.

The Squire was so plausible, that he found it an easy task to deceive a girl as unsophisticated as Elinor Wildegrave, who was a perfect novice in the ways of the world.  She could not believe it possible that Mr. Hurdlestone could stoop from his dignity to act a despicable part; that deception could lurk beneath such a grave demeanor.  Elinor was not the first human being whose faith has been built on reeds.

When alone with Miss Wildegrave, Mark never failed to make his brother the theme of conversation.  He lamented, most feelingly, the unfortunate difference which existed between them, which appeared the more unnatural, considering that they were twins.  He laid the fault of their disunion entirely to their parents—­his father adopting him as a pet, and his mother lavishing all her affections upon Algernon.

This partiality, he said, had destroyed all confidence between them, and produced a rivalry and misunderstanding of each other’s character from their earliest years, substituting envy for generous emulation, and hatred for love.  In all their quarrels, whether right or wrong, his mother defended Algernon, and his father sided with him so that well-doing was never rewarded, and ill-doing never met with an adequate punishment.  Was it to be wondered at that they had grown up perfectly indifferent to each other?

There was much truth in this statement; but Mark Hurdlestone made the best of it, in order to justify himself.

As they became more intimate, Elinor ventured to inquire why his father had been induced to act so unjustly to Algernon on his death-bed; that she could hardly believe that Algernon’s attachment to her could have drawn down upon him such a heavy punishment.

“My father was a man of headstrong prejudices,” said the Squire.  “If he once took a notion into his head, it was impossible to knock it out of him.  To dislike a person, and to hate them, were with him the same thing.  Such were the feelings he entertained towards your father, whom he regarded as having been his bitterest enemy.  The idea of a son of his uniting himself to a daughter of Captain Wildegrave seemed to impugn his own loyalty.  It was with him a personal insult, an unforgivable offence.  Algernon has accused me of fomenting my father’s displeasure, for the base purpose of robbing him of his share of the property.  You have been told this?”

“I have.”

“And you believe it?”

“I did believe it; but it was before I knew you.”

“Dismiss such an unworthy idea of me from your breast for ever.  I did all in my power to restore Algernon to my father’s favor.  I earnestly entreated him, when upon his death-bed, to make a more equitable will.  On this point the old man was inflexible.  He died muttering curses on his head.”