“Cordelia? My blessed child, do you not see--do you not understand--this must not be. Think of it. You know how I love you. I do not exaggerate when I say, I would willingly die for you. Then, oh, then, you will believe I have only your best good at heart. Think who and what this man is. Think of his family--his parentage. Do you not see?” “Grandpa, I can not quite understand it. Here am I with a heart capable of loving. In my brief span of life I have become acquainted with two men, and have been thrown more or less into their companionship. In fact my relations with these two have been such that their friendship could not have been otherwise than valuable and very pleasant to me, provided I had found them worth confidence and esteem. One of those men was born the child of a smuggler. He could not help it, could he? The question with me is, what sort of a man has the smuggler’s son grown to be? “The other man, dear grandpa, was born the son of--” “Stop! stop! Oh, I know what you would say. Aye, and what sort of a man has he grown to be? Oh, Heaven have mercy!” “Dear grandpa!” rising to her feet and once more winding her arms around his neck, “let us say no more about the matter at this time. You will not forbid me to associate with Percy as I have heretofore done. Think what he has been to me--my teacher and guide through all these years! And what a teacher! Could there have been a nobler, truer, or purer guide? You need not fear that I shall marry him without your knowledge, and, I am almost ready to say, without your consent. But let it be for now. You may talk with my lover if you like; but mind, you shall not blame him. Mine is the blame if you have any to lay upon us. “There!” giving him another kiss, “now go and be as happy as you can. Be sure your darling will do nothing to give you pain if she can help it. Shall it not be so?” Poor, fond, foolish old man! He could not find it in his heart to say her nay. And, if the truth were told, he felt greatly relieved that the matter had been thus pleasantly disposed of. He told himself things would simply be as they had been. If he would win his ward from the unfortunate love, he would not do it by beginning now to make her miserable and unhappy. He would wait. Who should say what of good the future might bring? He kissed her and blessed her, and the conference ended. While this scene had been transpiring in the breakfast-room of the castle, another, of a somewhat different character, had been taking place in the wood by the river, not a great way off. Lord Oakleigh had left his grandfather feeling about as angry--as thoroughly mad with rage and passion--as a naturally perverse and passionate man could be. He went first to the butler’s room and got a bottle of brandy, which he took with him to his own apartment, where he drank freely.