"Marian, it must not be! I'm a weakly woman, I know, but what answer should I make to your dear father when I meet him again--soon now, very soon, please God!--if I permitted this thing! What would he say if he learned that I was selfish enough to permit you to sacrifice yourself, you whom he so worshipped, to become the wife of an old man, in order that I might profit by it? What would he think of Mr. Creswell, who pretended to be his friend, and who would----" "Mother, dearest mother, you must not speak against Mr. Creswell, please! Recollect he is to be my husband!" "Very well, my dear," said the old lady quietly; "I'll ask you one question, and after that you'll never hear me open my lips on the matter. Do you love Mr. Creswell?" "Yes, mother." "Better than any other man living?" "Ye-yes, mother." She hesitated for an instant, but the answer came round and firm at last. "You swear that to me?" "Yes, mother." "That's enough, my dear! I shall be ready to face your father now." Mrs. Ashurst then removed her arm from her daughter's neck and lay back in her chair. After a minute or two she told Marian she had heard the luncheon-gong sound, and that she would prefer being left alone for a little. When Marian came up to kiss her before leaving the room, the little old lady's white face became suffused with a glow of colour, and the voice in which she prayed God to bless her child, and keep her happy throughout her life, was broken with emotion, and weaker and fainter than ever.