all in
my power to conciliate my brother; but, like my poor father, his enmity
is stronger than his love, and will not be entreated."

This statement of Mr. Hurdlestone's was not only very plausible, but it
was partly true. He had indeed begged the dying man to forgive Algernon,
and consent to his marriage with Miss Wildegrave; but then, he well knew
that his father would neither do the one nor the other; while his own
hypocritical interference only aggravated the old man's anger in a
tenfold degree, and would be the sure way of producing the result which
he so ardently desired. He had offered to settle a handsome sum upon his
injured brother, but he well knew that it would be rejected with scorn
by the high-spirited young man. Elinor could not contradict these
statements. She knew the impetuous disposition of her lover, and she
more readily admitted their probability. Mark had been represented to
her by him as a sullen, morose, avaricious young man, selfish,
unfeeling, and cruel, suspicious of his friends, and implacable to his
enemies. She had found him the reverse of all this; and she began to
entertain doubts of Algernon's veracity, and to conclude that it was for
some more cogent reason than for any with which she was yet acquainted
that his father had struck him out of his will, so anxious was she to
acquit herself of being the cause of her lover's exile, and the
unfortunate circumstances in which he was placed. This, too, was
selfish; but Elinor had been an only child, and very much indulged by
her mother. She was a good, gentle, beautiful girl; but not exactly the
stuff of which angels are made.

After this explanation had taken place, Mr. Hurdlestone became a daily
visitor at the cottage; and his society and friendship contributed
greatly to the comfort and amusement of its inhabitants. He never, to
Elinor, made the least allusion to his passion. The passion, indeed, had
long ceased to exist; he sought her not for love, but for revenge.

Time glided on. Algernon had been three years away; but his letters
still continued to breathe the same ardent attachment, and Elinor was
happy in the consciousness of being the sole possessor of his heart.

Her mother, who had more ambitious views for her daughter, often
lamented her long engagement, which might never be completed. "She would
rather," she said, "have the rich Squire for her son-in-law; and she
would not be at all surprised if Elinor herself was to change he