be null and void; you are mine, and I claim
you, Margaret."

"No, no!" she returned, shrinking from him; "I will never be any man's
wife. I have told Raby so, and he says I am right."

"Margaret, are you mad to say such things to me? I am not a patient
man, and you are trying me too much," and Hugh's eyes flashed angrily.
"Do you want me to doubt your love?"

"Do not make it too hard for me," she pleaded. "Do you think this
costs me nothing--that I do not suffer too? You will not be cruel to
me, Hugh, because I am obliged to make you unhappy. It is not I, but
the Divine Will that has interposed this barrier to our union. Ah, if
Raby or I had but known, all this would have been spared you."

"It is too late," returned Hugh, gloomily; "you have no longer the
right to dispose of yourself, you are mine--how often am I to tell you
that? Do you think that I will ever consent to resign you, that I
could live my life without you. What do I care about your mother? Such
things happen again and again in families, and no one thinks of them.
If I am willing to abide by the consequences, no one else has a right
to object."

Poor Hugh! he was growing more sore and angry every moment. He had
anticipated some trouble from Margaret's interview with his father; he
knew her scrupulous conscience, and feared that a long and weary
argument might be before him, but he had never really doubted the
result. Life without Margaret would be simply insupportable; he could
not grasp the idea for a moment.

Margaret--his Margaret--refuse to be his wife! His whole impetuous
nature rose against such a cruel sentence--neither God nor man had
decreed it; it was unreasonable, untrue, to suppose such a thing. How
could he think of the consequences to his unborn children, of the good
of future generations of Redmonds, when he could hear nothing but the
voice of his passion that told him no other woman would be to him like
Margaret? The news had indeed been a shock to him, but, as he had told
his father, nothing should prevent his marrying Margaret.

But he little knew the woman with whose will he had to cope.
Margaret's very love for him gave her strength to resist--besides, she
could not look at things from Hugh's point of view. If she had married
him she would never have known a moment's peace. If she had had
children and they had died, she would have regarded their death as a
punishment. She would have seen retributive justice in every trouble
t