"He had a right to do so--though I doubt if he would have blamed me on the true ground. Yet, no; he never could have done me the wrong that your uncle did, when, long years ago, Mr de Caxton in a letter--the very bitterness of which disarmed all anger--accused me of having trifled with Austin--nay, with himself! And _he_, at least, had _no_ right to reproach me," continued Lady Ellinor warmly, and with a curve of her haughty lip, "for if I felt interest in his wild thirst for some romantic glory, it was but in the hope that, what made the one brother so restless, might at least wake the other to the ambition that would have become his intellect, and aroused his energies. But these are old tales of follies and delusions now no more: only this will I say, that I have ever felt in thinking of your father, and even of your sterner uncle, as if my conscience reminded me of a debt which I longed to discharge--if not to them, to their children. So when we knew you, believe me that your interests, your career, instantly became to me an object. But, mistaking you--when I saw your ardent industry bent on serious objects, and accompanied by a mind so fresh and buoyant; and, absorbed as I was in schemes or projects far beyond a woman's ordinary province of hearth and home--I never dreamed, while you were our guest--never dreamed of danger to you or Fanny. I wound you, pardon me; but I must vindicate myself. I repeat that, if we had a son to inherit our name, to bear the burthen which the world lays upon those who are born to influence the world's destinies, there is no one to whom Trevanion and myself would sooner have intrusted the happiness of a daughter. But my daughter is the sole representative of the mother's line, of the father's name: it is not her happiness alone that I have to consult, it is her duty--duty to her birthright, to the career of the noblest of England's patriots--duty, I may say, without exaggeration, to the country for the sake of which that career is run!" "Say no more, Lady Ellinor; say no more. I understand you. I have no hope--I never had hope--it was a madness--it is over. It is but as a friend that I ask again, if I may see Miss Trevanion in your presence, before--before I go alone into this long exile. Ay, look in my face--you cannot fear my resolution, my honour, my truth. But once, Lady Ellinor, but once more! Do I ask in vain?" Lady Ellinor was evidently much moved. I bent down almost in the attitude of kneeling; and, brushing away her tears with one hand, she laid the other on my head tenderly, and said in a very low voice-- "I entreat you not to ask me; I entreat you not to see my daughter. You have shown that you are not selfish--conquer yourself still. What if such an interview, however guarded you might be, were but to agitate, unnerve my child, unsettle her peace, prey upon"-- "Oh, do not speak thus--she did not share my feelings!"