"No, Mr. Walter," said the old man, gravely, "I must not do that. Sir, don't you think as you are to be scolded, or the angel you love affronted; all that is over forever. There has been many a strange thing happened since you rode out of our stable last, but I wish you would go to the Colonel and let him tell you all; however, I suppose I may tell you so much as this, that your sweetheart is not Mary Bartley at all; she is Mr. Hope's daughter." "What!" cried Walter, in utter amazement. "There is no doubt about it, sir," said the old man, "and I believe it is all out about you and her, but that would not matter, for the Colonel he takes it quite different from what you might think. He swears by her now. I don't know really how that came about, sir, for I was not there, but when I was dressing the Colonel he said to me, 'John, she's the grandest girl in England, and an honor to her sex, and there is not a drop of Bartley's blood in her.'" "Oh, he has found that out," said Walter. "Then I'll go to him like a bird, dear old fellow. So that is what he wanted to tell me." "No," said John Baker, gravely. "No," said Walter; "what then?" "It's trouble." "Trouble," said Walter, puzzled. "Ay, my poor young master," said Baker, tenderly--"sore trouble, such trouble as a father's heart won't let me, or any man break to you, while he lives to do it. I know my master. Ever since that fellow Bartley came here we have seen the worst of him; now we shall see the best of him. Go to him, dear Master Walter. Don't waste time in talking to old John Baker. Go to your father and your friend." Walter Clifford cast a look of wonder and alarm on the old man, and went down at once to the drawing-room. His father was standing by the fire. He came forward to him with both hands, and said, "My son!" "Father," said Walter, in a whisper, "what is it?" "Have you heard nothing?" "Nothing but good news, father--that you approve my choice." "Ah, John told you that!" "Yes, sir." "And did he tell you anything else?" "No sir, only that some great misfortune is upon me, and that I have my father's sympathy." "You have," said the Colonel, "and would to God I had known the truth before. She is not Bartley's daughter at all; she is Hope's daughter. Her virtue shines in her face; she is noble, she is self-denying, she is just, she is brave; and no doubt she can account for her being at the Lake Hotel in company with some man or other. Whatever that lady says will be the truth. That's not the trouble, Walter; all that has become small by comparison. But shall we ever see her sweet face again or hear her voice?" "Father," said Walter, trembling, "you terrify me. This sudden change in your voice that I never heard falter before; some great calamity must have happened. Tell me the worst at once." "Walter," said the old man, "stand firm; do not despair, for there is hope." "Thank God for that, father! now tell me all."