“You ought to sleep before you tell us farther,” said the Major, speaking from a strong sense of the duties of a host; but he was relieved when the youth answered, “You are very good, sir, but I could not sleep till you know all.”

“Speak, then,” said the Major, “I cannot look at your honest young countenance and think you guilty of more than disobedient folly; but I fear it may have cost my poor child very dear!  Is it your mother that you dread?”

“I would be thankful even to know her in my mother’s keeping!” he said.

“Is there no mistake?” said the Major; “my daughter, Mrs. Arden, saw her at Brentford, safe and blooming.”

“Oh, that was before—­before—­” said Sir Amyas, “the day before she fled from my mother at Bowstead, and has been seen no more.”

He put his hand over his face, and bowed it on the table in such overpowering grief as checked the exclamations of horror and dismay and the wrathful demands that were rising to the lips of his auditors, and they only looked at one another in speechless sorrow.  Presently he recovered enough to say, “Have patience with me, and I will try to explain all.  My cousin, Miss Delavie, knows that I loved her sweet sister from the moment I saw her, and that I hurried to London in the hope of meeting her at my mother’s house.  On the contrary, my mother, finding it vain to deny all knowledge of her, led me to believe that she was boarded at a young ladies’ school with my little sisters.  I lived on the vain hope of the holidays, and meantime every effort was made to drive me into a marriage which my very soul abhorred, the contract being absolutely made by the two ladies, the mothers, without my participation, nay, against my protest.  I was to be cajoled or else persecuted into it—­sold, in fact, that my mother’s debts might be paid before her husband’s return!  I knew my Uncle Belamour was my sole true personal guardian, though he had never acted further than by affixing his signature when needed.  I ought to have gone long before to see him, but as I now understand, obstacles had been purposely placed in my way, while my neglectful reluctance was encouraged.  It was in the forlorn hope of finding in him a resource that took me to Bowstead at last, and then it was that I learnt how far my mother could carry deception.  There I found my sisters, and learnt that my own sweetest life had been placed there likewise.  She was that afternoon visiting some old ladies, but my uncle represented that my meeting her could only cause her trouble and lead to her being removed.  I was forced then to yield, having an engagement in London that it would have been fatal to break, but I came again at dark, and having sworn me to silence, he was forced to let me take advantage of the darkness of his chamber to listen to her enchanting voice.  He promised to help me, as far as he had the power, in resisting the hateful Aresfield engagement, and he obtained the assistance of an old friend in making