race at a window, without in the least knowing what they are talking
about, or having the least reason to believe that Grace, who is mistress
of the house and a person of dignity, would accept her son if he were to
offer himself, she suddenly rushes up to them and clasps them both,
saying, "with a flushed countenance and in an excited manner"--"This is
indeed happiness; for, may I not call you so, Grace?--my Grace--my
Horace's Grace!--my dear children!" Her son tells her she is mistaken,
and that he is engaged to Kate, whereupon we have the following scene and
tableau:

"Gathering herself up to an unprecedented height (!) her eyes
lightening forth the fire of her anger:

"'Wretched boy!' she said, hoarsely and scornfully, and clenching her
hand, 'Take then the doom of your own choice! Bow down your
miserable head and let a mother's--'

"'Curse not!' spake a deep low voice from behind, and Mrs. Percy
started, scared, as though she had seen a heavenly visitant appear,
to break upon her in the midst of her sin.

"Meantime Horace had fallen on his knees, at her feet, and hid his,
face in his hands.

"Who then, is she--who! Truly his 'guardian spirit' hath stepped
between him and the fearful words, which, however unmerited, must
have hung as a pall over his future existence;--a spell which could
not be unbound--which could not be unsaid.

"Of an earthly paleness, but calm with the still, iron-bound calmness
of death--the only calm one there--Katherine stood; and her words
smote on the ear in tones whose appallingly slow and separate
intonation rung on the heart like a chill, isolated tolling of some
fatal knell.

"'He would have plighted me his faith, but I did not accept it; you
cannot, therefore--you _dare_ not curse him. And here,' she
continued, raising her hand to heaven, whither her large dark eyes
also rose with a chastened glow, which, for the first time,
_suffering_ had lighted in those passionate orbs--'here I promise,
come weal, come woe, that Horace Wolchorley and I do never
interchange vows without his mother's sanction--without his mother's
blessing!'"

Here, and throughout the story, we see that confusion of purpose which is
so characteristic of silly novels written by women. It is a story of
quite modern drawing-room society--a society in which polkas are played
and Puseyism discussed; ye