"Mother," said he gravely, "she is prouder than we ever were. Oh, I know it,"—seeing the look of incredulity upon her face;—"prouder than any Richards or Le Moyne that ever lived; only it is a different kind of pride. She would starve, mother," he continued impetuously; "she would work her fingers to the bone rather than touch one penny of that estate."
"Oh, why—why, Hesden, should she do that? Just to shield my father's name?"
"Not alone for that," said Hesden. "Partly to show that she can give you pride for pride, mother."
"Do you think so, Hesden?"
"I am sure of it."
"Will you promise me one thing?"
"Whatever you shall ask."
"Do not write to her, nor in any way communicate with her, except at my request."
"As you wish."