'Wynne's daughter marry my only son! Never!'
I proceeded with my letter.
'I will write to your uncle Aylwin at once. I will tell him you are going to marry that miscreant's daughter, and he will disinherit you.'
'In that case, mother,' I said, rising from the table, 'I need not trouble myself to finish my letter; for I was writing to him, telling him the same thing. Still, perhaps I had better send mine too,' I continued. 'I should like at least to remain on friendly terms with him, he is so good to me'; and I resumed my seat at the writing-table.
'Henry,' said my mother, after a second or two, 'I think you had better not write to your uncle; it might only make matters worse. You had better leave it to me.'
'Thank you, mother, the letter is finished,' I replied as I sealed it up, 'and will be sent. Good-bye, dear,' I said, taking her hand and kissing it. 'You knew not what you did, and I know you did it for the best.'
'When do you return, Henry?' asked she, in a conquered and sad tone, that caused me many a pang to remember afterwards.
'That is altogether uncertain,' I answered. 'I go to follow Winifred. If I find her alive I shall marry her, if she will marry me, unless permanent insanity prove a barrier. If she is dead'—(I restrained myself from saying aloud what I said to myself)—'I shall still follow her.'
'The daughter of the scoundrel!' she murmured, her lips grey with suppressed passion.
'Mother,' I said, 'let us not part in anger. The sword of Fate is between us. When I was at school I made a certain vow. The vow was that I would woo and win but one woman upon earth—the daughter of the man who has since violated my father's tomb. I have lately made a second vow, that, until she is found, I shall devote my life to the quest of Winifred Wynne. If you think that I am likely to be deterred by fears of being disinherited by your family, open and read my letter to my uncle. I have there told him whom I intend to marry.'