that that sorrow should never be his, but she could not get beyond the one word.
'If you love this man, let him come,' said the judge, carried by his feelings somewhat beyond the point to which he had intended to go. 'I know no harm of him. I know nothing but good of him. If you are sure of your own heart, let it be so. He shall be to me as another son,—to me and to your mother. Tell me, Madeline, shall it be so?'
She was sure enough of her own heart; but how was she to be sure of that other heart? 'It shall be so,' said her father. But a man could not be turned into a lover and a husband because she and her father agreed to desire it;—not even if her mother would join in that wish. She had confessed to her mother that she loved this man, and the confession had been repeated to her father. But she had never expressed even a hope that she was loved in return. 'But he has never spoken to me, papa,' she said, whispering the words ever so softly less the winds should carry them.
'No; I know he has never spoken to you,' said the judge. 'He told me so himself. I like him the better for that.'
So then there had been other communications made besides that which she had made to her mother. Mr. Graham had spoken to her father, and had spoken to him about her. In what way had he done this, and how had he spoken? What had been his object, and when had it been done? Had she been indiscreet, and allowed him to read her secret? And then a horrid thought came across her mind. Was he to come there and offer her his hand because he pitied and was sorry for her? The Friday fastings and the evening church and the sick visits would be better far than that. She could not however muster courage to ask her father any question as to that interview between him and Mr. Graham.
'Well, my love,' he said, 'I know it is impertinent to ask a young lady to speak on such a subject; but fathers are impertinent. Be frank with me. I have told you what I think, and your mamma agrees with me. Young Mr. Orme would have been her favourite———'
'Oh, papa, that is impossible.'
'So I perceive, my dear, and therefore we will say no more about it. I only mention his name because I want you to understand that you may speak to your mamma quite openly on the subject. He is a fine young fellow, is Peregrine Orme.'
'I'm sure he is, papa.'
'But that is no reason you should marry him if you don't like him.'
'I could never like him,—in that way.'
'Very well, my dear. There is an end of that, and I'm sorry for him. I think that if I had been a young man at The Cleeve, I
