"He had many faults," Mr. Standish admitted one day. "He was reckless, but there was a winsomeness about him that won hearts; and the fault he committed which rankled deepest in the old baronet's mind was an action that came nearer to a virtue."
"What was that fault?" she asked.
"He married the woman he loved. She was the prettiest, sweetest woman I ever saw. Absurd as it may seem, Meg, the first time I saw you grown up you reminded me of her. It was simply fancy, of course the likeness is lost now. It seems to have gone out."
"Do you think it was because of this marriage that his portrait was turned to the wall?" persisted Meg.
"I think so. At least this I know: Sir Malcolm never forgave that marriage."
"But why?" asked Meg.
"Because she was poor and brave enough to work for her living. I believe she was a governess; but her trials came after their marriage. His debts accumulated, his father was unforgiving; he sometimes had to hide."
"What became of her?" still questioned Meg.
"She died when her child was born. After her death he certainly grew more reckless. He was unhappy, and I think he had some remorse. The marriage took place on the continent."
"Did the child live?"