"Geoffry, there is no middle course. You must choose between me and--_her_. Once she and I separate--it will be to-day--we can never meet again. I will not tolerate her memory; I will never submit to the degradation of hearing her named in my presence. Our paths lie asunder, Geoffry, far as the poles: hers lies one way, mine another. You must decide for yourself which of them you will follow. If it be mine, you shall be, as ever, my dear and honoured son, and I will never, never reproach you with your folly: never revert to it; never think of it. If it be hers, why, then--I will go away somewhere and hide myself, and leave the Grange free for you. And I--I dare say--shall not live long to be a thorn in your remembrance." She broke down with a flood of bitter sobs. Geoffry Chavasse had never seen his mother shed such. The hour was as trying to her as to him. She had loved him with a strangely selfish love, as it is in the nature of mothers to do; and that she should have to bid him choose between her and another--and one so entirely beneath her as Lady Chavasse considered Mary Layne to be--was gall and wormwood. Never would she have stooped to put the choice before him, even in words, but for her dread that he might be intending to take it. "It is a fitting end, Geoffry--that this worthless girl should supplant me in your home and heart," she was resuming when her emotion allowed; but Geoffry stood forward to face her, his agitation great as her own. "An instant, mother: that you may fully understand me. The duty I owe you, the allegiance and the love, are paramount to all else on earth. In communing with myself last night, as I tell you I was, my heart and my reason alike showed me this. If I must choose between you and Mary Layne, there cannot be a question in my mind on which side duty lies. In all honour I am bound to make her my wife, and I should do it in all affection: but not in defiance of you; not to thrust rudely aside the love and obligations of the past one-and-twenty years. _You_ must choose for me. If you refuse your approval, I have no resource but to yield to your decision; if you consent, I shall thank you and bless you for ever." A spasm of pain passed across the mouth of Lady Chavasse. She could not help saying something that arose prominently in her mind though it interrupted the question. "And you can deem the apothecary Layne's daughter fit to mate with Sir Geoffry Chavasse?" "No, I do not. Under ordinary circumstances, I should never have thought of such a thing. This unhappy business has a sting for me, mother, on many sides. Will you give me your decision?" he added, after a pause. "I have already given it, Geoffry--so far as I am concerned. You must choose between your mother, between all the hopes and the home-interests of one-and-twenty years, and this alien." "Then I have no alternative."