“It strikes me, Percy, if I was in his place I should ask you to make yourself a little less familiar at the big house.” The youth looked at his mother in surprise. What was she driving at? Was she seeking to pry into his relations with Cordelia? “Mother, I do not quite understand you. What the world should Lord Oakleigh have to do with my familiarity at the castle?” “Why, doesn’t he intend to marry with the Lady Cordelia Chester?” For the life of him our hero could not keep back the start, nor the flush that mounted to his brow and temples; but not a sign of the emotion appeared in his voice when he spoke. “I know nothing of the young lord’s intentions.” “But,” pursued the woman, seeming desirous of gaining information, “so long and so intimate, as you have been at the castle, you ought to know what the general idea is, what the plan is in that respect. How does the old earl regard the matter? Of course he wants the girl to marry with his own son’s son.” “Perhaps he does.” “What do you think about it? Do you believe he wishes it?” “No, I do not!” Percy answered plumply. “Then you don’t think he would influence the girl to marry with Oakleigh?” “He never will try to influence her in any way in regard to her marriage. That I know.” “And perhaps you know that the girl wouldn’t have him for a husband on any consideration?” “Yes,” answered the youth, and, thus driven, he answered somewhat warmly, “I know just that!” “Poor young man! I’ve heard he loved her dearly.” “Then you’ve heard more than ever I did; for I candidly believe the man can love no living thing save himself!--There, mother, I think we had better drop this subject. The affairs of those people can be nothing to us, and we will let them rest.” Percy saw the smile that curled his mother’s lips, and he saw the sneer; but he made no further remark, nor did she, on that subject. The meal was drawing toward its close, and Percy had not offered to touch the wine. Usually he had drunk a few swallows when commencing to eat. He was watching his mother narrowly. He saw that her eyes often rested upon the bottle, and then turned toward himself; and more than once he was confident he detected a cloud of anxiety on her brow. Finally she spoke. “Percy, won’t you try the wine?” “Certainly. I’ll drink with you, mother.” The thought had come to him as he had spoken it, impulsively and not with premeditation, but the effect on the woman was quick and remarkable. She gave a start like one frightened, and she looked into the speaker’s face as though she would look him through. Very soon, however, she overcame the emotion, and said, with a poor attempt at a smile: “Indeed, boy, you know I never drink wine in the evening.” “And it is seldom that I take it with my supper,” the youth returned, pleasantly. “But this is very fine.” “Ah,” taking up the bottle and holding it between his eye and the blaze of the nearest candle, “where did this come from?”