She loved the girl, and cherished a secret hope that, through her husband’s intervention, a reconciliation might be effected between the daughter and her parents. ‘I am at Mr Crampton’s service,’ said Mr Hindes. ‘What do you expect to issue from the proceeding?’ asked the old man, in a muffled voice. ‘I will never receive her back at “The Cedars.” It is of no use giving her any false hopes, for my decision is irrevocable. She is dead to me from this time forward.’ ‘Will her mother consent to that, sir?’ ‘If she does not she must join her daughter, for I will have no one who associates with Papists in my house. I would as soon cherish a brood of vipers. But I do not anticipate my wife being so ungrateful as to desert me in this extremity.’ ‘But if Jenny--if your daughter, on hearing your decision, and learning that it is unalterable, should elect to give up her husband and return to the protection of her parents--what then, sir?’ ‘There is no chance of it,’ said the old man. ‘I am not so sure of that. Our childhood’s affections are generally the strongest. She may be repenting the step she has taken even now. If I see her and find she wishes to come home again--what then?’ ‘I do not say that, in such a case, I should absolutely refuse to receive her, but it would be only on the very strictest conditions. And you would let me know first? You would not bring me face to face with her without any preparation, for, by the Lord, Hindes, I would not trust myself to say what I might do in such a case.’ ‘No,’ replied Hindes, ‘I promise you I will not act in any way without your consent. But I will go down to Dover, and see if it is possible to have an interview with her alone. If Mr Walcheren is present I have no hopes of success.’ ‘Don’t mention the fellow’s name!’ exclaimed Mr Crampton. ‘The very sound of it makes me feel like a murderer. I can conceive at this moment nothing that would give me greater pleasure than to squeeze the last breath out of his vile body.’ He rose to leave then, tottering as if the fatal intelligence had added twenty years to his existence. ‘Don’t walk home. Let me order the carriage. It won’t be ten minutes, and then it can take Henry to the station,’ said Hannah, kindly. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ replied Mr Crampton, reseating himself. ‘I do not really think I am equal to the exertion. To think that a rebellious girl has the power to sap a man’s strength in this manner.’ ‘The news has been a shock to all of us,’ returned Hannah. ‘My husband looks almost as bad as you do. Henry, you must take something before you start. Ring the bell and tell Simmonds to bring some brandy and soda. Your face is positively ghastly. What shall I put up for you? Shall you stay the night?’