'Thank you, mother, the letter is finished,' I replied as I sealed it up, 'and will be sent. Good-bye, dear,' I said, taking her hand and kissing it. 'You knew not what you did, and I know you did it for the best.' 'When do you return, Henry?' asked she, in a conquered and sad tone, that caused me many a pang to remember afterwards. 'That is altogether uncertain,' I answered. 'I go to follow Winifred. If I find her alive I shall marry her, if she will marry me, unless permanent insanity prove a barrier. If she is dead'--(I restrained myself from saying aloud what I said to myself)--'I shall still follow her.' 'The daughter of the scoundrel!' she murmured, her lips grey with suppressed passion. 'Mother,' I said, 'let us not part in anger. The sword of Fate is between us. When I was at school I made a certain vow. The vow was that I would woo and win but one woman upon earth--the daughter of the man who has since violated my father's tomb. I have lately made a second vow, that, until she is found, I shall devote my life to the quest of Winifred Wynne. If you think that I am likely to be deterred by fears of being disinherited by your family, open and read my letter to my uncle. I have there told him whom I intend to marry.' 'Mad, mad boy!' said my mother. 'Society will--' 'You have once or twice before mentioned society, mother. If I find Winifred Wynne, I shall assuredly marry her, unless prevented by the one obstacle I have mentioned. If I marry her I shall, if it so please me and her, take her into society.' 'Into society!' she replied, with ineffable scorn. 'And I shall say to society, "Here is my wife.'" 'And when society asks, "Who _is_ your wife?'" 'I shall reply, "She is the daughter of the drunken organist who desecrated my father's tomb, though that concerns you not:--her own speciality, as you see, is that she is the flower of all girlhood."' 'And when society rejects this earthly paragon?' 'Then I shall reject society.' 'Reject society, boy!' said my mother. 'Why, Cyril Aylwin himself, the bohemian painter who has done his best to cheapen and vulgarise our name, is not a more reckless, lawless leveller than you. And, good heavens! to him, and perhaps afterwards to you, will come--the coronet.' And she left the room. III WINIFRED'S DUKKERIPEN I