"Yes, Mary; it is all your own now. To do as you like best with it all—all. May God, in His mercy, enable you to bear the burden, and lighten for you the temptation!"
She had so far moved as to find the nearest chair, and there she was now seated, staring at her uncle with fixed eyes. "Uncle," she said, "what does it mean?" Then he came, and sitting beside her, he explained, as best he could, the story of her birth, and her kinship with the Scatcherds. "And where is he, uncle?" she said. "Why does he not come to me?"
"I wanted him to come, but he refused. They are both there now, the father and son; shall I fetch them?"
"Fetch them! whom? The squire? No, uncle; but may we go to them?"
"Surely, Mary."
"But, uncle—"
"Yes, dearest."
"Is it true? are you sure? For his sake, you know; not for my own. The squire, you know—Oh, uncle! I cannot go."
"They shall come to you."
"No—no. I have gone to him such hundreds of times; I will never allow that he shall be sent to me. But, uncle, is it true?"