"I am so
sorry that my brother is out; he has gone over to Pierrepoint."

"I came here to see you and not your brother," returned Sir Wilfred;
but he did not look at her as he spoke, and Margaret noticed that he
seemed rather nervous. "My business is with you, Miss Ferrers; I have
just heard strange news--that you and my son are engaged; is that
true?"

Margaret bowed her head. She thought Sir Wilfred's manner rather
singular--he had met her with coldness; there was certainly no trace
of warmth, no cordiality in the loose grasp of her hand. She wondered
what made him speak in that dry, measured voice, and why, after his
first keen glance at her, he had averted his eyes. He looked older
than he had done yesterday, and there was a harassed expression in his
face. "It is rather strange," he went on, "that Hugh should have left
me in ignorance all these months, but that"--as Margaret seemed about
to speak--"is between me and him, I do not include you in the blame.
On the contrary,"--speaking now with some degree of feeling--"I am
sorry for you, Miss Ferrers, for I have come to tell you, what Hugh
refuses to do, that I can not consent to my son's marrying you."

Margaret started, and the proud indignant color rose to her face; but
she restrained herself.

"May I ask your reason, Sir Wilfred?"

"I have a very good, sufficient reason," returned the old man, sadly;
"Hugh is my only son."

"I do not understand--"

"Perhaps not, and it is my painful task to enlighten you, Miss
Ferrers," hesitating a little, "I do not wonder at my son's choice,
now I see you; I am quite sure that you are all he represents you to
be; that in all respects you are fitted to be the wife of a wealthier
man than Hugh. But for my boy's sake I am compelled to appeal to your
generosity, your sense of right, and ask you to give him up."

"I can not give your son up," returned Margaret, with noble frankness;
"I am promised to him, and we love each other dearly."

"I know that," and for a moment Sir Wilfred's eyes rested on the
beautiful face before him with mingled admiration and pain, and his
voice softened insensibly. "My dear, I know how my boy loves you, how
his whole heart is centered on you. I can do nothing with him--he will
not listen to reason; his passion for you is overmastering, and blinds
him to his best interest. I have come to you to help me save him in
spite of himself."

At this solemn adjuration Margaret's face grew pale, and