“Praises, in fact,” he said, “which have been prepared for your ears. Do not misapprehend me, Mr. Wilton,” he continued, hastily; “I have no intention or design to compromise the fair fame of Miss Wilton. She is too pure, too ingenuous and artless for any charge having such object, to be sustained. But her simple guileless nature lays her open to the designs of an unprincipled adventurer, who, by adventitious circumstances, has obtained some influence over her, and she might be induced to consent to an interview artfully suggested, and ardently pressed, without having, in her simplicity, any notion that her assent would bear a construction unfavourable to her--to any lady acting in the same manner, under similar influence.” Mr. Wilton waved his hand sternly. “Let us keep to facts, Colonel,” he said. “You are now charging upon my daughter and Mr. Vivian the grave impropriety of indulging in clandestine interviews--are you prepared with proofs?” “I can speak to one having occurred yesterday,” replied Colonel Mires. “Yesterday!” echoed Wilton. “You are mistaken, you must he. Vivian did not arrive from London until to-day--that is, at least--are you sure of what you assert?” “I saw him in your park yesterday--let him deny it if he dare.” “Colonel Mires, I must see this matter to the end. I will send for Mr. Vivian, this moment, and interrogate him--and in your presence.” “As you will,” returned Mires, coolly. Mr. Wilton rang the hell sharply, and when the servant answered the summons, he said-- “You will find in the garden my guest, Mr. Vivian, ask him to attend me here immediately. Say that I have something of importance to confer with him upon.” The man disappeared, and, in a few minutes, young Vivian was ushered into the library. He started on seeing Colonel Mires, and he turned his eyes upon the flushed and excited countenance of old Wilton. The scene between himself and Flora, in the glen, on the day preceding, flashed across his mind, and instantly a grim foreshadowing of what was to come passed like a gloomy cloud over his brain. Wilton’s manner was grave, cold, even harsh. Colonel Mires met him with an insulting but triumphant curl of the lip, which Hal retorted with a glance of scorn and defiance. “Mr. Vivian,” commenced Wilton, his voice trembling in his eagerness to come at the truth, “I am given to understand that you have designs upon the affections of my daughter, Miss Wilton--that you have prosecuted those designs with secrecy and subtlety, and, by mean artifices, have in some degree succeeded in your unworthy purpose----” “Mr. Wilton--sir!” interrupted Hal, in a voice which startled him, “are you conscious of the nature of the words you are addressing to me? Mean artifices!--unworthy purpose! This is bitter language, sir, which I do not deserve, and most indignantly repudiate!” “Listen to me!” rejoined Mr. Wilton, with an imperious manner.