‘What you say, sir, sounds well; but if, in seeking to confer that benefit, you mar for ever the happiness you wish to make, and know before that such must be the consequence, some other reason than either regard for your nephew, or esteem for his mother, must be the actuating spring that urges you to persevere.’ Firm of purpose, and fortified in resolution, as Kittlestonheugh was, something both in the tone and the substance of this speech made him thrill from head to foot. ‘What other motive than my affection can I have?’ said he. ‘Interest,’ replied Mrs. Eadie, with a look that withered him to the heart,--‘Interest; nothing else ever made a man force those to be unhappy whom he professed to love.’ ‘I am sorry, madam, that you think so ill of me,’ was his reply, expressed coldly and haughtily. ‘I did not wish you to come here, that we should enter into any debate; but only to entreat that you will not press your wish for the marriage too urgently; because, out of the love and reverence which your nephew has for his mother, I fear he may be worked on to comply.’ ‘Fear! Madam--I cannot understand your meaning.’ The glance that Mrs. Eadie darted at these words convinced him it was in vain to equivocate with her. ‘Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said she, after another long pause, and a keen and suspicious scrutiny of his face--‘it has always been reported, that some of my mother’s family possessed the gift of a discerning spirit. This morning, when I saw you alight from your carriage, I felt as if the mantle of my ancestors had fallen upon me. It is a hallowed and oracular inheritance; and, under its mysterious inspirations, I dare not disguise what I feel.--You have come to-day----’ ‘Really, madam,’ interrupted the merchant testily, ‘I come for some better purpose than to listen to Highland stories about the second-sight. I must wish you good morning.’ In saying this, he turned round, and was moving to go away, when the lady, throwing back her shawl, magnificently raised her hand, and took hold of him by the arm-- ‘Stop, Mr. Walkinshaw, this is a place of truth--There is no deceit in death and the grave--Life and the living may impose upon us; but here, where we stand, among the sincere--the dead--I tell you, and your heart, sir, knows that what I tell you is true, there is no affection--no love for your nephew--nor respect for his mother, in the undivulged motives of that seeming kindness with which you are, shall I say plainly, seeking their ruin?’ The impassioned gestures and the suppressed energy with which this was said, gave an awful and mysterious effect to expressions that were in themselves simple, in so much that the astonished man of the world regarded her, for some time, with a mingled sentiment of wonder and awe. At last he said, with a sneer,--