‘Heaven knows, I had neither fear nor thought of fear at the time our sorrow came upon us. I had complete confidence in Muriel. If I had seen her surrounded by a score of admirers I should have felt no anxiety. She was a Trevanard, and the Trevanards had always been noted for beauty and pride. No female of the Trevanard family had ever been known to lower herself, or to forfeit her good name. And she came of as good a race on her mother’s side. The last thing I should have thought of was that my daughter would degrade herself by listening to a dishonourable proposal. Well, time went on, and one day Muriel brought me a letter she had received from her late schoolmistress, asking her to go and stay at the school for a week or two at Michaelmas. The school was just outside Seacomb, a handsome house, standing in its own gardens, and there were very few of the pupils that were not gentlemen’s daughters, or at any rate daughters of the richest farmers in the neighbourhood. Altogether, Miss Barlow’s school stood very high in people’s estimation, and I felt flattered by Miss Barlow’s asking my daughter to visit her, now that Muriel’s schooling days were over, and there was no more money to be expected from us.’ Again a pause and a sigh, and a few minutes of thoughtful silence, before Mrs. Trevanard resumed. ‘Muriel was very much excited about the invitation. I remember the bright flush upon her cheeks as she showed me the letter, and her curious, half-breathless way when she asked if I would let her go, and if I thought her father would consent to her going. “Why, you’re very anxious to run away from us, Muriel,” I said, “but that’s only to be expected: Borcel End must be dull for you.” “No, indeed, mother,” she answered quickly, “Borcel End is a dear old place, and I’ve been very happy here; but I should like to accept Miss Barlow’s invitation.”’ ‘You consented, I suppose?’ said Maurice. ‘Yes, it wouldn’t have been easy for us to refuse anything she asked, at that time. And I think both her father and I were proud of her being made a friend of by such a superior person as Miss Barlow. So one sunny morning, at the beginning of the Michaelmas holidays, my husband drove Muriel over to Seacomb in the trap, and left her with Miss Barlow. She was to stay a fortnight, and her father was to fetch her at the end of the visit; but before the fortnight was over we had a letter from Muriel, asking to be allowed to extend her visit to three weeks, and saying that her father needn’t trouble about fetching her, as Miss Barlow would arrange for sending her home. This wounded Michael a little, being so proud of his daughter. “I thought my girl would have been glad to see her father after a fortnight’s separation,” he said. “She always used to be glad when I went over to see her on market days; and if I missed a week she used to call me unkind, and tell me how she had fretted at not seeing me; but I suppose things are changed now she’s a young woman.”’