“Well, I mostly let him judge for me,” said Mrs. Alden. “I find it’s the only way to have peace, and I can’t live in a constant broil; not that he’s particularly ill-natured, but he naturally thinks he ought to be master in his own house. Another thing, Floy: if he once sets his foot down there’s no getting him to lift it again, and he vows that if you persist in giving up this property Espy shall never marry you with his consent. So, you see if you can’t be persuaded there’ll be endless trouble for us all.” Floy’s cheek crimsoned and her eye flashed, while the pretty head was thrown haughtily back as she drew herself up with an air of wounded pride. “It was your son who sought me, Mrs. Alden, not I him; nor shall I ever thrust myself into a family where I am not wanted and should be made an element of discord.” Mrs. Alden was thoroughly dismayed. “My dear child,” she hastened to say, “I did not mean to hurt your feelings, and I can’t bear the thought of losing you. But Espy will never give you up; he’d break with his father and all of us first, and--” “He can’t marry me against my will,” interrupted Floy; “so pray dismiss all anxiety on that score. I would no more rob you and Mr. Alden of your son than--than I would steal the inheritance of the heirs at law of this property.” “Oh, Floy, Floy, to make you break with Espy is the very last thing I intended; don’t do it; he’d never forgive me; but oh! if I only could persuade you to keep this secret of your birth and--” “It is already too late,” answered the girl in a low, quiet tone, “the deed is done.” CHAPTER IX. WHAT ESPY SAID ABOUT IT. “Dost thou deem It such an easy task from the fond breast To root affection out?”--SOUTHEY. “What shall I do? what _shall_ I do?” Mrs. Alden asked herself again and again as, in great perturbation of spirit, she awaited Espy’s return. “How angry and distressed he’ll be, poor boy!” She was at a loss to determine whether it would be best to break the news to him herself, or to let him hear it first from Floy or his father. But circumstances decided for her. As she sat at the window watching the lengthening shadows as the sun drew near his setting, and saying to herself that Espy was very late--it was nearly tea-time, and she almost began to fear that he had met with some accident--she heard the gate swing, and turning her head saw him coming up the gravel walk that led from it to the house. He moved with rapid strides, and there was an angry flush on his cheek, an indignant light in his eye, which told her at once that he had already been made aware of the unfortunate turn affairs had taken. In a moment more he stood before her with folded arms, firmly-set mouth, and stern eyes. “Espy, my son! Oh, I am so sorry!”