ride
of birth out of her heart. That the young Earl might be saved from the
damning sin and also from the polluting marriage;--that was the prayer
she prayed.

CHAPTER VIII.

LOOSE ABOUT THE WORLD.

The Countess was seen no more on that day,--was no more seen at least by
either of the two brothers. Miss Mellerby was with her now and again,
but on each occasion only for a few minutes, and reported that Lady
Scroope was ill and could not appear at dinner. She would, however, see
her nephew before he started on the following morning.

Fred himself was much affected by the interview with his aunt. No doubt
he had made a former promise to his uncle, similar to that which had now
been exacted from him. No doubt he had himself resolved, after what he
had thought to be mature consideration that he would not marry the girl,
justifying to himself this decision by the deceit which he thought had
been practised upon him in regard to Captain O'Hara. Nevertheless, he
felt that by what had now occurred he was bound more strongly against
the marriage than he had ever been bound before. His promise to his
uncle might have been regarded as being obligatory only as long as his
uncle lived. His own decision he would have been at liberty to change
when he pleased to do so. But, though his aunt was almost nothing to
him,--was not in very truth his aunt, but only the widow of his uncle,
there had been a solemnity about the engagement as he had now made
it with her, which he felt to be definitely binding. He must go to
Ardkill prepared to tell them absolutely the truth. He would make any
arrangement they pleased as to their future joint lives, so long as it
was an arrangement by which Kate should not become Countess of Scroope.
He did not attempt to conceal from himself the dreadful nature of the
task before him. He knew what would be the indignation of the priest. He
could picture to himself the ferocity of the mother, defending her young
as a lioness would her whelp. He could imagine that that dagger might
again be brought from its hiding place. And, worse than all, he would
see the girl prostrate in her woe, and appealing to his love and to his
oaths, when the truth as to her future life should be revealed to her.
But yet he did not think of shunning the task before him. He could not
endure to live a coward in his own esteem.

He was unlike himself and very melancholy. "It has been so good of
you to remain here," he said to So