"Yes; she died there, a victim, I am sure, of her own impatient, feverish ambition."
"Do not judge her harshly."
"I do not. This is the reputation she has left behind her."
"Yet it may not have been her true character. Reputation is one thing, character is another," said I, falling into thought, and then reflecting that much yet must remain to be told, to give me a sure clew to the household mystery.
"Well, what else?" I inquired.
"What else, my dear? Why, nothing else. I have told you all her story to her death," said Mathilde, uneasily.
"But, after all," said I, "one of the most interesting things in the connection, is your father's purchase of this fine property."
"Ah, true! Well, after the death of his lady, Ernest Van Der Vaughan removed back into the old house, and closed up the new one. In the course of a few weeks he advertised the property for sale, but months passed, and no purchaser appeared willing to give him the price set upon the estate.
"A year went by, and Mr. Van Der Vaughan made the acquaintance of a young lady, Alice Brightwell, who was, it is said, as strong a contrast as possible to his late wife; for Alice was young, and fair and gay, loved music, dancing and company, and had not a regret, a care, or an ambition in the world.
"It must have been the attraction of antagonism that united the hearts of this dark and sombre man of thirty, and this laughing, careless girl of nineteen, for it is said that they were greatly attached to each other.