howed that the mother had risen. In fact, I presently heard her
steps pacing up and down the floor.

"I know it is not tyranny," the daughter finished, in the soft tones
that were so great a contrast to her mother's. "Tyranny I could have
understood; but it is mystery, and that is not so easily comprehended.
Why should you and papa be mysterious? What is there in our simple life
to create secrecy between persons who love each other so dearly? I see
nothing, know nothing; and yet--"

"Honora!"

The word struck me like a blow. "Honora!" Great heaven! was that the
name of this young girl?

"You are giving too free range to your imagination. You--"

I did not hear the rest. I was thinking of the name I had just heard,
and wondering if my suspicions were at fault. They would never have
called their child Honora. Who were these women, then? Friends of the
Dudleighs? Avengers of the dead? I glued my ear still closer to the
wall.

"We have cherished you." The mother was still speaking. "We have given
you all you craved, and more than you asked. From the moment you were
born we have both lavished all the tenderness of our hearts upon you.
And all we ask in return is trust." The hard voice, hard because of
emotion, I truly believe, quavered a little over that word, but spoke it
and went on. "What we do for you now, as always, is for your best good.
Will you not believe it, Honora?"

The last appeal was uttered in a passionate tone. It seemed to move the
daughter, for her voice had a sob in it as she replied:

"Yes, yes; but why not enlighten me as to your reasons for a course so
remarkable? Most parents desire their daughters to do well, but you, on
the contrary, not only wish, but urge me to do ill. A noble lover sues
for my hand, and his cause is slighted; an ignoble one requests the same
favor, and you run to grant it. Is there love in this? Is there
consideration? Perhaps; but if so, you should be able to show where it
lies. I am not a child, young as I am; I will understand any reasons you
may advance. Then let me have your confidence; it is all I ask, and
surely it is not much, when you see how I suffer from my
disappointment."

The restless steps ceased. I heard a groan close to my ear; the mother
was evidently suffering frightfully.

"Papa is prosperous," the daughter pleadingly continued. "I know your
decision cannot be the result of financial difficulties. And then, if it
were, the marquis is rich, and--"