Mrs. Grant was a handsome widow, the descendant of a very aristocratic race, but impoverished by the war between the States, and struggling under a load of debt and worry. The ancestral estates were almost hopelessly mortgaged, and her only son, Cecil, a newly fledged lawyer, was barely able to keep up the interest and maintain his mother in simple style from his earnings and the small revenue from the stock and lands. Judge Camden was a self-made man, very rich, and with the arrogant pride peculiar to that class of people. He fell in love with his neighbor, the poor, proud, but charming widow, and offered her his hand. His proposal was politely, gently, but firmly rejected, and the old judge never forgave her for the slight. He continued to cherish a secret anger against the lady, and his resentment included her son, then a young collegian. When Cecil came home and opened his modest law-office in the village, he secretly did everything he could against the progress of the struggling young attorney, and delighted in all his misfortunes. Now that Cecil had become a suitor for Violet’s hand, the old judge saw in it an opportunity to wreak vengeance on the son’s heart for all the pangs his mother had inflicted on his, and he was not slow to avail himself of the occasion. No pity for the young hearts thus cruelly severed moved him from his stern resolve to force Violet, by fair or foul means, into a speedy marriage with Harold Castello. When Mrs. Grant learned of the old judge’s refusal to sanction Cecil’s engagement to Violet, she was very indignant, and desired her son to break off the affair at once. “I cannot bear to have my son called a fortune-hunter,” she cried, proudly, for some gossip had made her acquainted with the old judge’s insinuations. Cecil flushed deeply as he answered: “No one can call me so, mother, for Violet Mead is as poor as I am.” “Yes, but it is expected that she and her cousin Amber will divide their grandfather’s fortune between them at his death.” “That is, if they marry to please him, of course; otherwise he will disinherit them. So sweet Violet’s fate is already sealed, for she has promised to be my bride as soon as I am a little better off.” “Oh, my son, how can you dream of taking bonny Violet away from her luxurious home at Golden Willows to live in such an old rack-rent castle as this?” demanded Mrs. Grant, in sorrowful dismay. “We love each other, mother dear, and Violet vows that she will not mind my poverty,” he replied, gently. “She is a child, and does not know anything about the stern realities of poverty and want. You had much better break off the engagement and leave Violet free for her rich suitor, or you might both repent your marriage when too late. And, to be frank, Cecil--I am not mercenary, but I have always hoped you would marry money, so as to pay off the mortgage and save your ancestral estates.”