known and esteemed both General and Mrs. Lennox before her marriage with Sir Sampson, and she was too firm and decided in her predilections ever to abandon them; and while she had the credit of sharing in all her husband’s animosity, she was silently protecting the lawful rights of those who had long ceased to consider them as such.  General Lennox had always understood that he and his family were under Sir Sampson’s ban, and he possessed too high a spirit ever to express a regret, or even allude to the circumstances.  It had therefore made a very faint impression on the minds of any of his family, and in the long lapse of years had been almost forgot by Mrs. Lennox, till recalled by Lady Maclaughlan’s letter.  But she had been silent on the subject to Mary; for she could not conceal from herself that her husband had been to blame—­that the heat and violence of his temper had often led him to provoke and exasperate where mildness and forbearance would have soothed and conciliated, without detracting from his dignity; but her gentle heart shrank from the task of unnecessarily disclosing the faults of the man she had loved; and then she heard Mary talk with rapture of the wild beauties of Lochmarlie, she had only sighed to think that the pride and prejudice of others had alienated the inheritance of her son.

But all this Mary was still in ignorance of, for Miss Grizzy had gone completely astray in the attempt to trace the rise and progress of the Lennox and Maclaughlan feud.  Happily Lady Maclauglan’s entrance extricated her from her labyrinth, as it as the signal for her to repair to Sir Sampson.  Mary, in some little confusion, was beginning to express to her Ladyship regret at hearing that Sir Sampson had been so unwell, when she was stopped.

“My dear child, don’t learn to tell lies.  You don’t care two pence for Sir Sampson.  I know all.  You are going to be married to Charles Lennox.  I’m glad of it.  I wished you to marry him.  Whether you’ll thank me for that twenty years hence, I can’t tell—­you can’t tell—­he can’t tell—­God knows—­humph!  Your aunts will tell you he is Beelzebub, because his father said he could make a Sir Sampson out of a mouldy lemon.  Perhaps he could.  I don’t know but your aunts are fools.  You know what fools are, and so do I. There are plenty of fools in the world; but if they had not been sent for some wise purpose they wouldn’t have been here; and since they are here they have as good a right to have elbow-room in the world as the wisest.  Sir Sampson hated General Lennox because he laughed at him; and if Sir Sampson had lived a hundred years ago, his hatred might have been a fine thing to talk about now.  It is the same passion that makes heroes of your De Montforts, and your Manuels, and your Corsairs, and all the rest of them; but they wore cloaks and daggers, and these are the supporters of hatred.  Everybody laughs at the hatred of a little old man in a cocked hat.  You may laugh too.  So now, God bless you!  Continue as you are, and marry the man you like, though the world should set its teeth against you.  ’Tis not every woman can be trusted to do that—­farewell!” And with a cordial salute they parted.