Since his marriage with the rich and beautiful Miss Maitland, he had scarcely given Elinor Wildegrave a second thought.  He had loved her passionately, as the portionless orphan of the unfortunate Captain Wildegrave; but he could not regard with affection or esteem the wife of the rich Mark Hurdlestone—­the man from whom he had received so many injuries.  How she could have condescended to share his splendid misery, was a question which filled his mind with too many painful and disgusting images to answer.  When he received his brother’s hasty message, entreating him to come and make up their old quarrel before he died, he obeyed the extraordinary summons with his usual kindness of heart, without reflecting on the pain that such a meeting might occasion, when he beheld again the object of his early affections as the wife of his unnatural brother.

When he crossed the well-known threshold, and his shadow once more darkened his father’s hall, those feelings which had been deadened by his long intercourse with the world resumed their old sway, and he paused, and looked around the dilipidated mansion with eyes dimmed with regretful tears.

“And it was to become the mistress of such a home as this, that Elinor Wildegrave—­my beautiful Elinor—­sold herself to such a man as Mark Hurdlestone, and forgot her love—­her plighted troth to me!”

So thought Algernon Hurdlestone, as he followed the parish girl up the broad uncarpeted oak stairs to his brother’s apartment, shocked and astonished at the indications of misery and decay which on every side met his gaze.  He had heard much of Mark’s penurious habits, but he had deemed the reports exaggerated or incorrect; he was now fully convinced that they were but too true.  Surprised that Mrs. Hurdlestone did not appear to receive him, he inquired of Ruth, “if her mistress were at home?”

“At home!—­why, yes, sir; it’s more than her life’s worth to leave home.  She durst not go to church without master’s leave.”

“And is she well?”

“She be’ant never well; and the sooner she goes the better it will be for her, depend upon that.  She do lead a wretched life, the more’s the pity; for she is a dear kind lady, a thousand times too good for the like o’ him.”

Algernon sighed deeply, while the girl delighted to get an opportunity of abusing her tyrannical master, continued: 

“My poor mistress has been looking out for you all day, sir; but when your coach drove into the court-yard she died right away.  The Squire got into a terrible passion, and told me to carry her up into her own room, and lock her in until company be gone.  Howsumever I was too much flurried to do that; for I am sure my dear missus is too ill to be seen by strangers.  He do keep her so shabby, that she have not a gownd fit to wear; and she do look as pale as a ghost; and I am sure she is nearer to her end than the stingy old Squire is to his.”