She sat in her own room, glancing back at these past grievances, dwelling on others that were more recent. It was the day following the fête. The interview with Mr. Carleton St. John was over, and Charlotte was his promised wife. Mrs. Darling had done what she could to oppose it--to the secret surprise of Mr. St. John; but her opposition was untenable, and had broken down. "If you have any tangible objection to me, name it, and let me combat it as I best may," said Mr. St. John. But apparently Mrs. Darling could bring forward none, save the foolishly fond one that she could not part with Charlotte; and the engagement took place. As Mrs. Darling sat now, alone, her mind was still busy with a hundred wild schemes for its frustration. But she saw clearly that they would all be worse than useless; that unless there was some special interposition of Providence, Charlotte would go to Alnwick. What was the secret of her opposition? Ah, my reader, you must turn over many pages ere you arrive at that. She had one very great and good reason for dreading the marriage of her daughter with George St. John of Alnwick. Charlotte happened to come into the room as she sat there. Mrs. Darling held out her hand; and Charlotte--who might have looked radiant with happiness but that she and her countenance were of an undemonstrative nature in general--came and sat on a stool at her feet, her dress, bright mauve muslin, floating around, her delicate hands raised from their open lace sleeves to her mother's knee. "I must say a few words to you, Charlotte. Promise to hear me patiently and calmly." "Of course I will, mamma." "There's no of course in the matter, I fear. Times have been, Charlotte, when----" "Oh mamma, never mind all that. I'm going to be good. Tell me what it is." "Do you remember, some three years ago--yes, it must be quite three years now, for we did not leave London that year until August--that we saw a good deal of George St. John? We had met him in London that season; we met him on our return here; and he fell into the habit of calling on us often." "I remember," replied Charlotte. "The beginning of October we left home for Paris; a sudden resolution on my part, you girls thought; which was true. Charlotte, I must tell you now why I went. I was taking you from danger; I was carrying you away from George St. John." A momentary glance upwards of Charlotte's eyes. Did Mrs. Darling read anger in them? That something made her quail, there was no doubt, and she laid firm hold of both those slender wrists resting on her knee. "For your sake, Charlotte; it was for your sake. I feared you were growing to love him." "And if I were?" retorted Charlotte. There was a long pause. Mrs. Darling appeared to be weighing some question with herself: she looked anxious, troubled, undecided: but she still held the hands with a firm grasp.