"I am a farmer's niece, my lord," she said, simply.
Her voice had a ring of music in it so sweet that it struck the earl with wonder.
"A farmer's niece," he replied. "You will forgive me for saying that a farmer's niece can be no fitting wife for my son."
"I love him, my lord, very dearly, and I will try hard to be all that he can wish me to be."
"Bravely spoken; but it is quite in vain; my lady would never hear of such a thing—I dare not—I cannot sanction it, even by a word, my lady would never forgive me. Can you tell me when this rash action was accomplished?"
"This is our wedding-day, father," cried Lord Chandos. "Only think of it, our wedding-day, and you receive us like this. How cruel and cold."
"Nay, I am neither," said the earl; "it is rather you, Lance, who do not seem to realize what you have done. You seem to think you belong to yourself; you are mistaken; a man in your position belongs to his country, his race, to his family, not to himself; that view of the question, probably, did not strike you."
"No," replied Lord Chandos, "it certainly did not; but, father, if I have done wrong, forgive me."
"I do forgive you, my dear boy, freely; young men will be foolish—I forgive you; but do not ask me to sanction your marriage or receive your wife. I cannot do it."
"Then, of what use is your forgiveness? Oh, father, I did not expect this from you; you have always been so kind to me. I had fancied difficulties with my mother, but none with you."