“Miss Howell, it must not be. I have other wishes for my son, and unless he obeys them, I am a ruined man. I do not blame you as much as Lawrence, for you do not know everything as he does.” “Why not go to him, then? Why need you come here to trouble me?” cried Mildred, burying her face in the cushions of the sofa. “Because,” answered Mr. Thornton, “it would be useless to go to him. He is infatuated,—blinded as it were, to his own interest. He thinks he loves you, Miss Howell, but he will get over that and wonder at his fancies.” Mildred’s crying ceased at this point, and not the slightest agitation was visible, while Mr. Thornton continued: “Lilian Veille has long been intended for my son. _She_ knew it. _He_ knew it. _You_ knew it, and I leave you to judge whether under these circumstances it was right for you to encourage him.” Mildred sat bolt upright now, and in the face turned toward her tormentor there was that which made him quail for an instant, but soon recovering his composure he went on. “He never had a thought of doing otherwise than marrying Lilian until quite recently, even though he may say to the contrary. I have talked with him. I know, and it astonished me greatly to hear from Geraldine that he had been coaxed into——” “Stop!” and like a young lioness Mildred sprang to her feet, her beautiful face pale with anger, which flashed like sparks of fire from her dark eyes. Involuntarily Mr. Thornton turned to see if it was the portrait come down from the canvas, the attitude was so like what he once had seen in the Mildred of other days. But the picture still hung upon the wall, and it was another Mildred, saying to him indignantly: “He was not coaxed into it! I never dreamed of such a thing until Judge Howell hinted it to me, not twenty minutes before Lilian surprised us as she did.” “Judge Howell,” Mr. Thornton repeated, beginning to get angry. “I suspected as much. I know him of old. Nineteen years ago, he was a poorer man than I, and he conceived the idea of marrying his only daughter to the wealthy Mr. Thornton, and though he counts his money now by hundreds of thousands, he knows there is power and influence in the name of Thornton still, and he does not think my son a bad match for the unknown foundling he took from the street, and has grown weary of keeping!” “The deuce I have!” was hoarsely whispered in the adjoining room, where the old Judge sat, hearing every word of that strange conversation. He had not gone up the mountain as he intended, and had reached Beechwood just as Mildred was coming down the stairs. Lucy told him Mr. Thornton was there, and, thinking it was Lawrence, he went into his library to put away some business papers ere joining his guest in the drawing-room. While there he heard the words, “You have just received a letter from my son?”