Mrs. Craven Black was stung to fury by this outspoken declaration, its truthfulness giving it keener effect. She compressed her lips, being unable to speak, and hurried to and fro with uneven tread like a caged tigress. “We will not discuss the right or wrong of Mrs. Black’s very natural and proper act,” said Craven Black. “She had the right to read your letter, and therefore did read it. I think you have no further fault to find with us than this?” “Such an indelicate letter for a young lady to write,” murmured Mrs. Artress, turning her eyes upward. “‘My own dear Arthur.’ I never was so shocked!” Neva turned her back upon the woman, without a word, and replied to Craven Black as if she had not heard his cousin speak. “I have other fault to find with you, Mr. Black,” the young girl said haughtily. “You and your wife have been false and treacherous to me from the beginning. You planned to come to this place before you left Hawkhurst, and you sent Mrs. Artress on in advance to prepare this house for your reception. Yet you pretended to me that we were to go by rail into Yorkshire. You allowed me to convey that impression to my friends, while you intended the impression to be a false one. The manner in which you proceeded from the railway station to Gravesend, and in which you have come to this place, has been secret and furtive, as if you meant to throw off pursuit. You have shamefully deceived me, and I regard your conduct and that of your wife, now that my eyes have been opened, as base, mean, and treacherous.” “Regard it as you like,” said Craven Black airily, although his face flushed. “My dear child, you are beating against your bars like the bird in the cage to which I likened you. Don’t waste your strength in this manner. Be reasonable, and submit to the power of those who have right and strength upon their side.” Mrs. Black paused in her walk before Neva, and said vindictively, and even fiercely: “That is what you will have to do, Neva--submit! We are stronger than you, I should think your conscience would reproach you for rebelling against me in this manner. Did not your father a score of times enjoin you in his letters to love and obey me? Did he not in his will enjoin you to cling to me, and be gentle and loving and obedient to my wishes? Is it thus you respect his wishes and memory--” “Stop!” cried Neva imperiously. “How dare you urge my father’s wishes upon me? How dare you speak of respect to his memory, which you outraged at the time of your recent and third marriage, when you summoned my father’s tenantry to a ball, and made merry in my father’s house, thus virtually rejoicing in his death? I cannot hear my father’s name from your lips, madam.”