"Maud Meredith is not my sister," he said, earnestly, "though Maud Willoughby may be. Why is the name Meredith?"
"As a retort to one of your own allusions--did you not call me Miss Meredith, one day, when I last saw you in Albany?"
"Ay, but that was in jest, my dearest Maud. It was not a deliberate thing, like the name on that sash."
"Oh! jokes may be premeditated as well as murder; and many a one is murdered, you know. Mine is a prolonged jest."
"Tell me, does my mother--does Beulah know who made this sash?"
"How else could it have been made, Bob? Do you think I went into the woods, and worked by myself, like some romantic damsel who had an unmeaning secret to keep against the curious eyes of persecuting friends!"
"I know not what I thought--scarce know what I think now. But, my mother; does she know of this name?"
Maud blushed to the eyes; but the habit and the love of truth were so strong in her, that she shook her head in the negative.
"Nor Beulah?--She, I am certain, would not have permitted 'Meredith' to appear where 'Willoughby' should have been."
"Nor Beulah, either, major Willoughby," pronouncing the name with an affectation of reverence. "The honour of the Willoughbys is thus preserved from every taint, and all the blame must fall on poor Maud Meredith."