“Sir, nothing past, present, or future, can change me.  I shall obey the wishes of my heart, and be true to its love.”

“Let me tell you, George, that Love is now grown wise.  He follows Fortune.”

“Good-morning, sir.”

“Let it be so.  I will see you to-morrow in town.  Ten to one, you will be more reasonable then.”

He stood in the centre of the roadway watching his son’s angry carriage.  The poise of his head, and his rapid, uneven steps, were symptoms the anxious father understood very well.  “He is in a naked temper, without even civil disguise,” he muttered; “and I hope his own company will satisfy him until the first fever is past.  Do I not know that to be in love is to be possessed?  It is in the head—­the heart—­the blood—­it is indeed an uncontrollable fever!  I hope, first and foremost, that he will keep away from his mother in his present unreason.”

His mother was, however, George’s first desire.  He did not believe she would sanction his sacrifice to Annie Hyde.  Justice, honour, gratitude! these were fine names of his father’s invention to adorn a ceremony which would celebrate his life-long misery, and he rebelled against such an immolation of his youth and happiness.  When he reached the house, he found that his mother had gone to the pond to feed her swans; and he decided to ride a little out of his way in order to see her there.  Presently he came to a spot where tall, shadowing pines surrounded a large sheet of water, dipping their lowest branches into it.  Mrs. Hyde stood among them, and the white, stately birds were crowding to her very feet.  He reined in his horse to watch her, and though accustomed to her beauty, he marvelled again at it.  Like a sylvan goddess she stood, divinely tall, and divinely fair; her whole presence suffused with a heavenly serenity and happiness!  Upon the soft earth the hoofs of his horse had not been audible, but when he came within her sight, it was wonderful to watch the transformation on her countenance.  A great love, a great joy, swept away like a gust of wind, the peace on its surface; and a glowing, loving intelligence made her instantly restless.  She called him with sweet imperiousness, “George!  Joris!  Joris!  My dear one!” and he answered her with the one word ever near, and ever dear, to a woman’s heart—­“Mother!”

“I thought you were with your father.  Where have you left him?”

“In the wilderness.  There is need for me to go to the city.  My father will tell you why.  I come only to see you—­to kiss you—­”

“Joris, I see that you are angry.  Well then, my dear one, what is it?  What has your father been saying to you?”

“He will tell you.”

“So!  Whatever it is, your part I shall take.  Right or wrong, your part I shall take.”

“There is nothing wrong, dear mother.”

“Money, is it?”

“It is not money.  My father is generous to me.”