words had been forgotten, or at any rate forgiven, other causes of anger had sprung up.  She had endeavoured to drive him to repudiate Arabella Trefoil, and in order that she might do so effectually had contrived to find out something of Arabella’s doings at Rufford and at Mistletoe.  Her efforts in this direction had had an effect directly contrary to that which she had intended.  There had been moments in which Morton had been willing enough to rid himself of that burden.  He had felt the lady’s conduct in his own house, and had seen it at Rufford.  He, too, had heard something of Mistletoe.  But the spirit within him was aroused at the idea of dictation, and he had been prompted to contradict the old woman’s accusation against his intended bride, by the very fact that they were made by her.  And then she threatened him.  If he did these things,—­if he would consort with an outcast from the family such as Reginald Morton, and take to himself such a bride as Arabella Trefoil, he could never more be to her as her child.  This of course was tantamount to saying that she would leave her money to some one else,—­money which, as he well knew, had all been collected from the Bragton property.  He had ever been to her as her son, and yet he was aware of a propensity on her part to enrich her own noble relatives with her hoards,—­a desire from gratifying which she had hitherto been restrained by conscience.  Morton had been anxious enough for his grandmother’s money, but, even in the hope of receiving it, would not bear indignity beyond a certain point.  He had therefore declared it to be his purpose to marry Arabella Trefoil, and because he had so declared he had almost brought himself to forgive that young lady’s sins against him.  Then, as his illness became serious, there arose the question of disposing of the property in the event of his death.  Mrs. Morton was herself very old, and was near her grave.  She was apt to speak of herself as one who had but a few days left to her in this world.  But, to her, property was more important than life or death;—­and rank probably more important than either.  She was a brave, fierce, evil-minded, but conscientious old woman,—­one, we may say, with very bad lights indeed, but who was steadfastly minded to walk by those lights, such as they were.  She did not scruple to tell her grandson that it was his duty to leave the property away from his cousin Reginald, nor to allege as a reason for his doing so that in all probability Reginald Morton was not the legitimate heir of his great-grandfather, Sir Reginald.  For such an assertion John Morton knew there was not a shadow of ground.  No one but this old woman had ever suspected that the Canadian girl whom Reginald’s father had brought with him to Bragton had been other than his honest wife;—­and her suspicions had only come from vague assertions, made by herself in blind anger till at last she had learned to believe them.  Then, when in addition to this, he asserted his purpose