Athel knew nothing of her mother, and her early attempts to question her father concerning her had been so peremptorily rebuffed that she had long ago ceased to indulge in any curiosity regarding her. However--though she knew it not--no one regarded her as Mr. Kurston's heir; indeed, nothing in her father's conduct sanctioned such a conclusion. True, he loved her dearly, and had spared no pains in her education; but he never took her with him into the world, and, except in the neighborhood of the Chace, her very existence was not known of. She was as old as his new wife, willful, proud, accustomed to rule, not likely to obey. He had said nothing to Clementina of her existence; he had said nothing to his daughter of his marriage; and now both facts could no longer be concealed. But Frederick Kurston had all his life trusted to circumstances, and he was rather disposed, in this matter, to let the women settle affairs between them without troubling himself to enter into explanations with either of them. So, to Athel he wrote a tender little note, assuming that she would be delighted to hear of his marriage, as it promised her a pleasant companion, and directing her to have all possible arrangements made to add to the beauty and comfort of the house. To Mrs. Kurston he said nothing. The elegantly dressed young lady who met her with a curious and rather constrained welcome was to her a genuine surprise. Her air of authority and rich dress precluded the idea of a dependent; Mr. Kurston had kissed her lovingly, the servants obeyed her. But she was far too prudent to make inquiries on unknown ground; she disappeared, with her maid, on the plea of weariness, and from the vantage-ground of her retirement sent Félicité to take observations. The little French maid found no difficulty in arriving at the truth, and Mrs. Kurston, not unjustly angry, entered the drawing-room fully prepared to defend her rights. "Who was that young person, Frederick, dear, that I saw when we arrived?" This question in the very sweetest tone, and with that caressing manner she had always found omnipotent. "That young person is Miss Athel Kurston, Clementina." This answer in the very decided, and yet nervous, manner people on the defensive generally assume. "Miss Kurston? Your sister, Frederick?" "No; my daughter, Clementina." "But you were never married before?" "So people say." "Then, do you really expect me to live in the same house with a person of--" "I see no reason why you should not--that is, if you live in the same house with me." A passionate burst of tears, an utter abandonment of distress, and the infatuated husband was willing to promise anything--everything--that his charmer demanded--that is, for the time; for Athel Kurston's influence was really stronger than her step-mother's, and the promises extorted from his lower passions were indefinitely postponed by his nobler feelings.