In the sorrow and dismay occasioned by these injunctions, Mildred wrote the letter to her sister which we have sketched above. She gave it to her husband to read. He observed the anguish expressed in every line, and melted into a flood of tenderness, blaming the moodiness of his temper, and praying pardon of his bride. But he said no word which might encourage her to insert a single sentence in his name; and she remembered how, at that meeting on the cliff, Randolph spoke of the hate which was between her mother and himself, and how there could be little of happiness in his love; and the words appeared to be true with a force to bring despair. With a misgiving heart, Mrs. Winston took her sister's letter to their mother. Esther read it, and gave no sign. She observed that Mildred's entreaties and excuses were confined to herself. There was no mention of her partner in the affront; and Mrs. Pendarrel resented it too fiercely as yet to show any commiseration. Yet she was greatly changed. The successive shocks she had sustained had tamed her haughty resolution. The destruction of her home had caused her many a bitter pang. It was followed by the anxiety and exasperation produced by her daughter's demeanour. These were converted into despondency and fury by the elopement. And then came her miserable agent with a proposal which insulted her, and with menacing hints which were at once a cause of perplexity and alarm. Under such an accumulation of cares, it was no wonder that her old spirit deserted her, and that her usual energy was prostrated. But no gentle thoughts yet mingled with her dejection. Anger, cold and stern, over-powered every other sentiment. She forgive! She pardon the rebellion which had shattered the hopes of many months! She extend her hand to the man whom she had just driven to ruin! Forego the vengeance which she had meditated for years! Furnish Henry Trevethlan cause to triumph in his grave! Take the child again to her bosom who had wedded a nameless outcast! One whom she, Esther Pendarrel, had just before succeeded in degrading, and whom she could not, if she would, restore! Was it not a fair jest for the world to laugh at? She had disinherited and beggared her foe, only to prepare him to become her daughter's husband. And even now he gave no sign. He was exulting over the check he had put upon her. After all, it was he who had won the game. And should she then forgive?--should she make the victory more complete? No: let them starve;--let them see how poverty and love agreed together. She could at least enjoy that spectacle. And when love grew cold in daily bickerings, when life became a long scene of mutual recrimination, when strife made it happiness to be apart, or guilt brought about an actual separation, then she might think her daughter's penance sufficiently severe, and furnish her with the means of prolonging her miserable existence.