And then with infinite tenderness she thought of all Larry’s virtues,—­and especially of that great virtue in a woman’s eyes, the constancy of his devotion to herself.  She did love him,—­but with a varied love,—­a love which was most earnest in wishing his happiness, which would have been desirous of the closest friendship if only nothing more were required.  She swore to herself a thousand times that she did not look down upon him because he was only a farmer, that she did not think herself in any way superior to him.  But it was impossible that she should consent to be his wife.  And then she thought of the other man,—­with feelings much less kind.  Why had he thrust himself upon her life and disturbed her?  Why had he taught her to think herself unfit to mate with this lover who was her equal?  Why had he assured her that were she to do so her old friends would be revolted?  Why had he exacted from her a promise,—­a promise which was sacred to her,—­that she would not so give herself away?  Yes;—­ the promise was certainly sacred; but he had been cold and cruel in forcing it from her lips.  What business was it of his?  Why should he have meddled with her?  In the shallow streamlet of her lowly life the waters might have glided on, slow but smoothly, had he not taught them to be ambitious of a rapider, grander course.  Now they were disturbed by mud, and there could be no pleasure in them.

She went on over the bridge, and round by the shrubbery to the hall door which was opened to her by Mrs. Hopkins.  Yes, Lady Ushant was there;—­but the young Squire was very ill and his aunt was then with him.  Mr. Reginald was in the library.  Would Miss Masters be shown in there, or would she go up to Lady Ushant’s own room?  Of course she replied that she would go up-stairs and there wait for Lady Ushant.

When she was found by her friend she was told at length the story of all the circumstances which had brought Lady Ushant to Bragton.  When John Morton had first been taken ill,—­before any fixed idea of danger had occurred to himself or to others,—­his grandmother had come to him.  Then, as he gradually became weaker he made various propositions which were all of them terribly distasteful to the old woman.  In the first place he had insisted on sending for Miss Trefoil.  Up to this period Mary Masters had hardly heard the name of Miss Trefoil, and almost shuddered as she was at once immersed in all these family secrets.  “She is to be here to-morrow,” said Lady Ushant.

“Oh dear,—­how sad!”

“He insists upon it, and she is coming.  She was here before, and it now turns out that all the world knew that they were engaged.  That was no secret, for everybody had heard it”

“And where is Mrs. Morton now?” Then Lady Ushant went on with her story.  The sick man had insisted on making his will and had declared his purpose of leaving the property to his cousin Reginald.  As Lady Ushant said, there was no one else to whom he could leave it with any propriety;—­but this had become matter for bitter contention between the old woman and her grandson.