"What mishap has chanced in the village, that you look so grave, my dear love?" demanded his wife, playfully. "I am perplexed in what matter to act, and grieved, deeply grieved, at the intelligence I have learned; not only that my prejudice is confirmed, but that the knowledge I have acquired concerning that unhappy young man places me in a most awkward situation." "You are not speaking very intelligibly, my dear husband, and therefore I must guess what you mean; I fear it is young Myrvin of whom you speak," said Mrs. Hamilton, her playfulness gone. "They surely have not been again bringing him forward to his discredit?" observed Ellen, earnestly. "The poor young man is far away; why will they still endeavour to prejudice you and Mr. Howard against him?" "I admire your charity, my dear girl, but, I am sorry to say, in this case it is unworthily bestowed. There are facts now come to light which, I fear, unpleasant as will be the task, render it my duty to write to Lord Malvern. Arthur Myrvin is no fit companion for his son." "His poor, poor father!" murmured Ellen, dropping her work, and looking sorrowfully, yet inquiringly, in her uncle's face. "But are they facts, Arthur--are they proved? for that there is unjust prejudice against him in the village, I am pretty certain." "They are so far proved, that, by applying them to him, a mystery in the village is cleared up, and also his violent haste to quit our neighbourhood. You remember Mary Brookes?" "That poor girl who died, it was said, of such a rapid decline? Perfectly well." "It was not a decline, my dear Emmeline; would that it had been. She was beautiful, innocent, in conversation and manner far above her station. There are many to say she loved, and believed, in the fond trust of devotion, all that the tempter said. She was worthy to be his wife, and she became his victim. His visits to her old grandmother's cottage I myself know were frequent. He deserted her, and that wild agony broke the strings of life which remorse had already loosened; ten days after Myrvin quitted the village she died, giving birth to an unhappy child of sin and sorrow. Her grandmother, ever dull in observation and sense, has been silent, apparently stupefied by the sudden death of her Mary, and cherishes the poor helpless infant left her by her darling. Suddenly she has appeared awakened to indignation, and a desire of vengeance on the destroyer of her child, which I could wish less violent. She implored me, with almost frantic wildness, to obtain justice from the cruel villain--accusing him by name, and bringing forward so many proofs, which the lethargy of grief had before concealed, that I cannot doubt for one moment who is the father of that poor babe--the cruel, the heartless destroyer of innocence and life."