"I have yet to learn why you are here?" asked Marmaduke, sullenly, "and how?" "I came to restore you this," she uttered, holding up a key in her hand; "this will explain how I am here." "Oh, true! I had forgotten you came through the quiet gate leading by the shrubbery; I trust the reminiscence of the past, which such a walk must inevitably have awakened, procured you pleasure?" "Sneer on, Marmaduke Burton! I came prepared to suffer all to-night. I came to restore you this, and also to implore a favour at your hands?" "At mine! what can I do for you? I thought the hour of solicitation had passed between us--will you not be seated?" He offered her a chair; she appeared choking with emotion; and yet, though almost powerless to stand, waved her hand in token of dissent, as he pushed a seat towards her, and merely laid one hand upon the back of it for support. "As you will," he said coldly, noticing the action; "and perhaps you will pardon my asking you as much as possible to abridge this visit; you see I am engaged." He pointed to the table of papers. "I come," she said at last with great effort, "to implore one favour at your hands, as some mitigation of the deep remorse I feel. Miles Tremenhere is here--I do beseech you," here she clasped her hands, "not to make my burthen heavier to bear, by seeking to injure him farther." "Woman!" he cried, standing erect before her, "do you remember to whom you are speaking? How have I injured him? Am I not heir--lawful heir--here? I wish to hear no more; go, you have chosen to place a barrier yourself between us--henceforth, 'tis as you have willed it. I offered you independence and oblivion of all, away from this, and you have refused, so you must take the consequences." "I beseech you!" she exclaimed again, not heeding his words, "to have pity on that man, for the sake of his mother, who was one to me." "That is perceptible," he said scornfully, "in the good fruit of her cultivation--vice seldom produces----" "Hold!" she cried, springing towards him, and grasping his arm; "revile me as you will, but not her--she was pure as an angel, and you know it! And I adjure you by the wrong you have done her son--to spare him now; let him go in peace." "Woman, I bid you go," he cried, shaking her touch from him, "before my patience becomes exhausted; what am I doing, or going to do to that man? Let him go as he will, I shall not molest him unless he cross my path; then woe betide him, whatever may be done, I'll do, nor ask whether he be relative or stranger." "I only pray you," she continued, "should he seek you, as I fear he may, to be temperate, remembering what you were to each other, what you are in blood." She tried to soothe; had that not been the case, she would have fearlessly spoken all her thought of his treachery. "Why do you think he will seek me?" he asked, and the eye, ever uncertain in its glance, shrunk from her's. He began to dread a possible meeting.