between her two children, coupling,
with the bequest, a condition of forfeiture, if Mildred married without
her father's approbation.

I have now to relate an incident in the life of Philip Lindsay, which
throws a sombre coloring over most of the future fortunes of Mildred and
Arthur, as they are hereafter to be developed in my story.

The lapse of years, Lindsay supposed, would wear out the first favorable
impressions made by Arthur Butler upon his daughter. Years had now
passed: he knew nothing of the secret correspondence between the
parties, and he had hoped that all was forgotten. He could not help,
however, perceiving that Mildred had grown reserved, and that her
deportment seemed to be controlled by some secret care that sat upon
her heart. She was anxious, solicitous, and more inclined, than became
her youth, to be alone. Her household affections took a softer tone,
like one in grief. These things did not escape her father's eye.

It was on a night in June, a little more than a year before the visit of
Butler and Robinson which I have narrated in a former chapter, that the
father and daughter had a free communion together, in which it was his
purpose to penetrate into the causes of her disturbed spirit. The
conference was managed with an affectionate and skilful address on the
part of the father, and "sadly borne" by Mildred. It is sufficient to
say that it revealed to him a truth of which he was previously but
little aware, namely, that neither the family afflictions nor the flight
of two years had rooted out the fond predilection of Mildred for Arthur
Butler. When this interview ended Mildred retired weeping to her
chamber, and Lindsay sat in his study absorbed in meditation. The object
in life nearest to his heart was the happiness of his daughter; and for
the accomplishment of this what sacrifice would he not make? He minutely
recalled to memory all the passages of her past life. What error of
education had he committed, that she thus, at womanhood, was found
wandering along a path to which he had never led her, which, indeed, he
had ever taught her to avoid? What accident of fortune had brought her
into this, as he must consider it, unhappy relation? "How careful have I
been," he said, "to shut out all the inducements that might give a
complexion to her tastes and principles different from my own! How
sedulously have I waited upon her footsteps from infancy onward, to
shield her from the influences that m