this wretch the father of his darling. But it was just
this which saved him. He would believe that Christian was Mrs.
Costello's husband and Lucia's father, because Mrs. Costello told him so
herself and of her own knowledge--but as for a murder, innocent men were
often accused of that; and when a man is once accused by the popular
voice of a horrible crime, everybody knows how freely appropriate
qualities can be bestowed on him. So the conviction which remained at
the bottom of Maurice's mind, though he never drew it up and looked
steadily at it, was just the truth--that Christian, by some train of
circumstances or other, had been made to bear the weight of another
person's guilt. As to the other question of his giving up Lucia, Maurice
never troubled himself to think about it. He was, it must be confessed,
of a singularly obstinate disposition, and in spite of his legal
training not particularly inclined to listen to reason. Knowing
therefore perfectly well, that he had made up his mind to marry Lucia,
provided she did not deliberately prefer somebody else, he felt it
useless to complicate his already confused ideas any further, by taking
into consideration the expediency of such a connection. There was quite
enough to worry him without that; and by some inconceivable stupidity it
never entered his head that, while he was really so completely incapable
of altering his mind, other people should seriously think he was doing
it.

Yet as he read Mrs. Costello's letter over a second time, he began to
perceive something in its tone which seemed to say clearly--"Don't
flatter yourself that the matter rests at all with you. I have decided.
I am no longer your ally, but your opponent." At this a new element came
into play--anger.

He had been rather unreasonable before--now he became utterly so. "A
pretty sort of fellow she must think me, after all," he said to himself.
"I suppose she'd be afraid to trust Lucia to me now. However, if she
thinks I mean to be beaten that way, she'll find that she is mistaken."

He was walking up and down his room, and working himself up into a
greater ill-humour with every turn he made.

"If I could only get to Lucia herself," he went on thinking, "I should
see if I could not end the matter at once, one way or the other--that
fellow is clear out of the way now, and I believe I should have a
chance; but as for Mrs. Costello, she seems to think nothing at all of
throwing me over whenever it su