“I don’t mean to go at all.” The dutiful son, as he pronounced these words, threw his bulky shoulders back, and planted one big elbow on the arm of his easy-chair, and gazed calmly through his yellow lashes, smiling slightly as he watched the colour rising on his mother’s dark face. He knew that two stern wills were coming into clash; and the victory would be for the one that did not waste itself in fury. “Do you mean to tell me,” began the lady, trembling at heart, and her voice becoming tremulous, “that you intend to throw away all I have done? That you will not marry Lady Clara Voucher?” “That is exactly what I do mean. I will never marry Lady Clara Voucher.” “And why? Perhaps you will condescend to give some reason.” “I mean to marry some one else. I mean to marry Kitty Fairthorn.” His mother arose, as she generally did, when her furious temper burst all bonds. Often enough, and too often, she had been in a tempest of wild passion; but never till now in such a hurricane of rage. At first she was stilled by her own commotion; and the lines of her face twitched as with palsy. “Tell me again,” she said, crossing her arms, and speaking with great effort, as she stood before him, and he sat tranquil; “I cannot believe it, till I have heard it twice.” “Certainly, ma’am, to oblige you. I mean to marry, not Lady Clara, but your step-daughter, Kitty.” “You ninny, you rebel, you stubborn doll!” she had usually a fine store of these expressions, but they seemed to desert her in this great need, and he nodded his head at every one, as if to say, “Try something better than that”—“You—But it is useless; you are too base to care, you sit there, like a lump of yellow jaundice. Do you think that a beautiful girl like Kitty—the vile, designing, artful minx; I will throttle her, I wish I had her here. Go and fetch her, bring her to me; I don’t blame you. But she shall pay for this, with her life she shall. If they hang me to-morrow—” “Come, mother, come. You have let off a good bit of steam already. You’ll be as right as a trivet, after a few more choice expressions. Don’t spare them, if they do you good, you know.” “I shall never be right again. My heart is broken. I feel myself dying, and you have killed me. You, my own son, have murdered me. Oh, good God! What is this pain?” She fell upon the floor, and moaned and gasped, pressing both hands to her leaping heart, and scared of all wrath by the dread of death; now and then she muttered prayers for mercy, broken with groans of agony. Downy was terrified, and ran for brandy, as she began to tear her hair, and clutch at the carpet, with shrieks growing weaker and more gurgling. And as he ran back, his sister Euphrasia met him, and snatched the bottle from his hand.