After a time she said, timidly and blushingly,
'You will tell—you will talk with Dr. Wodrow about all this, Redmond?'
'How delicious to hear my name on your lips! But—Dr. Wodrow—why—is he a relation?'
'Why then—what then?'
'He is a kind of guardian; papa, on his deathbed, bequeathed Mary and me to his care.'
'Consult him—impossible!' said Sir Redmond, whose face darkened. 'Why should we condescend to consult that old pump with the Sabbath-day face, when our own hearts agree? Besides, if my uncle, from whom I have great expectations, knew that I had married a Scotch girl—he has such curious prejudices——'
'Your uncle?' queried Ellinor, timidly.
'I have, unfortunately, an old and strangely-tempered relation in that degree. He is dying under an incurable disease, and probably cannot live out this winter—certainly not next spring. I am the heir to all his estates, and it is his fancy that I should marry into a family of title—'
'Otherwise?'
'I shall lose every shilling—every one!'