"Let her go on her way," said the mother. "Let her find out for herself the results of rebellion; when the villain deserts her, she may not be quite so unwilling to stone the damsons next August. Let her learn her lesson, Mr. Lovely, and pray do not persuade her to come back. Her reputation is tarnished; and I am not at all inclined to bear the burden of her ill-behaviour, as I should do, Mr. Lovely, as I certainly should do since the world is censorious, and apt to visit the sins of the children upon the heads of the father, as the Bible says." Charles could scarcely believe that Mrs. Courteen was in earnest. He knew her for a worldly-minded woman, careless of everything save her own pleasures, but for such depths of callousness he was not prepared. "Indeed, madam," he said coldly, "my only excuse for obtruding my presence upon Miss Courteen at such a time is my sincere hope that she will honour my solicitous regard with the bestowal of her hand." "The child must be punished," insisted the mother. "Indeed, madam, I venture to think we may safely leave that office to the small and select circle of your intimate friends." "I cannot understand what attracts--" Mrs. Courteen began, then changed to "what makes men so generous." Mr. Lovely regarded her contemptuously. "So I should think." "Cruel Mr. Lovely," moaned the widow, "Cruel to suggest that I am ungenerous. Why, I have never mentioned the pearls which were taken out of my jewel-case." "They say that Miss Courteen's necklace vastly becomes her mother." "Do they, indeed, sir?" said the widow with an affected sigh. Charles made an impatient gesture. "Do you imagine, madam, that I am going to tire a good-hearted horse for the sake of allowing you to bask in the flattery of your friends? By G----! I tell you that one of 'em is already dead--shot for the sake of that daughter whose ruin you contemplate so tranquilly." The widow turned pale. "At any rate," Charles continued; "at any rate, the little Major with all his strut died like a cock of the game." "The Major dead," half screamed the widow; and even that information, so brutally delivered, provided the thought that now more than ever was it necessary to prevent Phyllida's marriage. "Aye, dead! He'll be here in the morning when the Wells waggon arrives." Charles turned away from the widow, thinking how impossible it was to believe that a mother could be so heartless. The desire to cherish Phyllida surged over him in a wave of tenderness; but when presently he and Clare set out from the inn-door, under the tail of the storm-cloud shedding stars in slow retreat across the sky, he felt Despair upon his heels and pondered the infamy of this beautiful world. Poor hero! he was a gamester even in his emotions and, having staked his hope in one wild throw, was fearfully watching the issue. What a maddening melody the cubes made when rattled by the hands of Fate.