"It never shall!" cried the mother, darting through the door; and rushing toward the kitchen with angry swiftness, she dashed the paper over Salina's shoulder into a huge fire that blazed in the chimney.
Frederick followed her, pale with excitement.
"You have not, mother, you dare not!"
Mrs. Farnham broke into a hysterical laugh.
"It's burned—it's ashes!" she said. "Oh, Frederick, what a mother I have been to you."
Farnham turned away, muttering gloomily to himself. The old lady followed him.
"Don't be angry, Fred, I did it for your good, for your own good; nobody is hurt by it but myself; I lose all authority over you now. Why, Fred, by that will, if you'd persisted in marrying without my consent, the whole property would have been—yes, would have been mine. See what I have sacrificed to you; but there is a medium in everything but a mother's love. I could have forced you to give up that girl, but see how I have destroyed my own power. You will remember this, dear boy, and not break my heart by this low match."
"Mother, if that paper was my father's will, you have committed a great wrong—a serious legal wrong. I cannot be grateful for it, I can never respect you again."
Mrs. Farnham began to cry.
"There it is," she said. "If I have done any wrong, it's you that urged me to it; as for that will, I always meant to keep the just medium between right and wrong, and let the thing rest in my writing-desk without saying a word about it. I wouldn't have burned it—nor have touched it again on any account, but you made me do both. First you provoked me to bring it out from where it had rested innocent as a lamb for so many years. Then, as if that wasn't enough, the way you went on was so dreadful. You drove me to it; what else could you expect from a mother's love, especially such a mother as I have been to you, Frederick?"