“The calamities growing out of that unhappy event are not to be attributed as crimes to her—the greatest sufferer by them.” “I am glad you see it in this light, Sir Parke,” said Lord Montressor, at the same time thinking within himself that it was a signal pity he could not have seen it so before borrowing old Queen Adelaide’s spectacles. “We have determined to establish the first marriage,” said the baronet, with the cool confidence of an autocrat. “I have talked with my friend, the Archbishop of York, and he thinks with me that it is the only thing to be done.” “But—you are sure of your ground—you are certain that it can be done?” Sir Parke put down the hand that had been caressing his own chin, turned upon the caviller a look of cool surprise, and said: “Assuredly, sir. Can there be a question of it? The only obstacle to the validity of that childish union was the lack of my consent. Now I intend to leave it to be supposed that my silence all these years, was the silence of consent. Yes, sir. Had I known of, and felt an opposition to that marriage, I might have broken it up at first. That I failed to do so—from whatever cause—argues my consent. That I allowed it to exist unquestioned, up to the date of the legal majority of my daughter, establishes the marriage. So my friend, the Archbishop, views it. The affair will be heard in chambers. The Court is friendly to my interests. The decision will involve no question of property or of dower, only the honor of my house, which must be redeemed.” “When will the case come on?” “Very soon. It will be the first cause taken up.” “You have not lately heard from your daughter?” “Not since her departure for America. I, however, dispatched a messenger after her, from whom I am expecting to hear by every mail,” replied Sir Parke, slightly betraying the great uneasiness he felt. “Then I bring you the latest news of Estelle.” Now both Sir Parke and Lady Morelle had expected this; but were both too cool and self-governed to hazard an inquiry, or manifest anxiety upon the subject. At Lord Montressor’s words, however, Lady Morelle raised her head, and Sir Parke answered: “Ah, indeed; then I hope, my lord, that you will tell me she is well, and within reach of my agent.” “She was well when I left, and living in retirement, in Maryland.” Sir Parke bowed, and compressed his lips. Lady Morelle flushed, and averted her face. Self-controlled as they were, their increasing anxiety betrayed itself. Lord Montressor understood its full meaning, and, with his usual straightforward candor, replied: “Fear nothing, Sir Parke. Although when I left the shores of England in pursuit of Estelle, I believed her to be my lawful bride; yet, since affairs have taken this unexpected turn, I thank Heaven that I have not seen her from the day she left the protection of her aged pastor, and, moreover, that I had not passed one moment alone with her since leaving the altar.”