This was the letter which the Squire placed upon his mouldy books, over the statement he had been writing. He did not speak, but read it steadily to the end, betraying no emotion except by the glow of colour that rose over his weather-beaten face. Who that has sat by, anxious, watching the effect of such a letter, needs to be told with what intense observation Mary Musgrave noted every sign of the rigid control he kept upon himself--the tight clutch of one hand upon the table, the tremor of the other which held the letter? But the Squire said nothing, not even when he had visibly come to the end. He held it before him still for some minutes; then he began to fold it elaborately--but said nothing still. The shadow of his head with its falling locks of white hair shook a little upon the wall. There is a peculiar tremble which shows the very severity of restraint, and this was of that kind. “Father! have you nothing to say?” “I thought it was a subject put aside, not to be mentioned between us,” he said. “I may be wrong--if I am wrong you can inform me; but I supposed this and all cognate subjects to be closed between us----” “How can this be closed; I have ceased to importune you, but this is a new opening. And there is more than the letter--the children----” “Ah!” He gave a slight cry. If he could it would have been an exclamation of scorn, but this was too much for him; the cry was sharp with impatient pain. “I could not keep _them_ a secret from you, father.” “I hate secrets,” he said; “nevertheless there are few families in which they are not necessary. When he had said this he pushed the letter towards her, drew forward his heraldry books, and took his pen in his hand. “Will you say nothing to me?” she cried. “Will you give me no answer? What am I to do?” “Do! It seems to me quite an unnecessary question. It is a long time since I have given up exercising any control over you, Mary,” he said. “But, father, have a little pity. The house is not mine to do as I like with.” “That is unfortunate,” he said with a cold precision which made it doubtful whether he spoke satirically or in earnest. “But it is not my fault. You cannot expect me to make place voluntarily for another; and even if I did, as you are a woman, it would be of very little use to you. You cannot be the heir----” “And this boy is!” she said with a gesture of appeal.