“Do you believe he would have allowed such a thing had he been living?” “I know very well he would not have allowed it. So, my child, do you borrow no trouble because of your refusal of his suit.” “Grandpa, do you believe he loves me?” “Alas! I can not believe that a true love of the heart--a pure, unselfish love--is possible to his nature! But let him pass. Tell me of this other--of Percy Maitland. What is he to you? You know what I mean.” She had thought to answer promptly, but when the moment came her heart was bounding too strongly for coherent speech. She bent her head and pressed her hands over her bosom, and by and by she had gained control of her emotions; or, at least, of those that had overcome her. She looked up, with a warm, radiant light in her truthful eyes, and a rich, rosy glow on her earnest, lovely face. “Dear grandpa, don’t be frightened; don’t have any fear; and I pray you, don’t blame me until you have taken a good long time for thought and observation; for I tell you, in the outset, while you live and need me, I will not leave.” “Bless you, darling, for that!” “And now, I must confess to you, I love Percy Maitland with all my heart, and all my strength. I love him as I never loved another--as I never can love another--with a love that would be my death if he were taken from me. We never knew till yesterday.” And then, in her frank bubbling manner, with the ice thus broken, she went on and told the story of the love-passage on the crag; and of how their love had been sealed in the old chapel. The old man was deeply interested. He felt his own youth come back, with the one great love of his lifetime; and he lived over again the ecstasy of the long ago. And another thing--the character and the behavior of the low-born youth stood out in flattering colors. The earl could not put away his admiration for him; he could not help respecting and esteeming him. And again he found himself wishing, “Oh! that Matthew had been like him!” Yet there was another and sterner side to the subject. Could he allow the lady daughter of one of England’s proudest, wealthiest knights to marry with the son of a smuggler? But even here the old earl, his tender, loving heart, could find argument on both sides. He called to mind the dying words of Sir William. His gentle daughter should never be urged to wed without love, and he--the earl--had solemnly promised that he would never even ask her to do such a thing. He remembered with a start how earnestly and feelingly the dying father of his fair ward had spoken of the misery that came from loveless marriage. And here was the girl with a love in her heart that had become so much a part of her life that the loss of it would kill her. Were the man the son of a landed proprietor--of an humble esquire--or even of a wealthy farmer, of good family, he might have hesitated; but--the son of an obscure seaman--aye, in truth, the son of an outlaw! Oh! it was too much!