“I am too much afraid of her to like her. I was at first greatly attracted by fascinations perfectly new to me, and by a number of graceful accomplishments, which certainly lent a great charm to her society. But after a while I detected, or I fancied that I detected, that all these attractions were thrown out as lures to amuse and occupy us, while she was engaged in studying our dispositions and examining our natures. Added to this, I became aware of the harshness she secretly bestowed upon poor Clara, whose private lectures were little else than tortures. This latter completely estranged me from her, and, indeed, was the first thing which set me at work to consider her character. From the day when Clara left this—”
“Left this, and for where?” cried he.
“I cannot tell you; we have never heard of her since. She was taken away by a guardian, a certain Mr. Stocmar, whom papa seemed to know, or at least thought he had met somewhere, many years ago. It was shortly after the tidings of Captain Morris's death this gentleman arrived here to claim her.”
“And her mother,—was she willing to part with her?”
“She affected great sorrow—fainted, I think—when she read the letter that apprised her of the necessity; but from Clara herself I gathered that the separation was most grateful to her, and that for some secret cause I did not dare to ask—even had she known to tell—they were not to meet again for many, many years.”
“But all that you tell me is unnatural, May. Is there not some terrible mystery in this affair? Is there not some shameful scandal beneath it all?”
A heavy sigh seemed to concur with what he said.
“And can my father mean to marry a woman of whose past life he knows nothing? Is it with all these circumstances of suspicion around her that he is willing to share name and fortune with her?”
“As to that, such is her ascendancy over him, that were she to assure him of the most improbable or impossible of events he 'd not discredit her. Some secret dread of what you would say or think has delayed the marriage hitherto; but once you have taken your leave and are fairly off,—not to return for years,—the event will no longer be deferred.”
“Oh, May, how you grieve me! I cannot tell you the misery you have put into my heart.”