"No, to—"
"Draw up my shawl," interrupted the old woman. "I do not care who it is. Why do you keep on telling me?"
"Because I did not wish to deceive you."
"Wait till I ask you not to deceive me. Who is the boy?"
"His name is Erastus Pronando," began Anne; "and—"
"Pronando?" cried Katharine Vanhorn, in a loud, bewildered voice—"Pronando? And his father's name?"
"John, I believe," said Anne, startled by the change in the old face. "But he has been dead many years."
Old Katharine rose; her hands trembled, her eyes flashed. "You will give up this boy at once and forever," she said, violently, "or my compact with you is at an end."
"How can I, grandaunt? I have promised—"
"I believe I am mistress of my own actions; and in this affair I will have no sort of hesitation," continued the old woman, taking the words from Anne, and tapping a chair back angrily with her hand. "Decide now—this moment. Break this engagement, and my agreement remains. Refuse to break it, and it falls. That is all."