Had it been Linda, Linda might have been moulded to her will.

But with Gertrude there could now be no hope.

What could she say?
She knelt down and kissed his brow, and mingled her tears with his.
'Oh, Harry--oh, Harry! my dearest, dearest son!' 'Oh, Mrs.Woodward, I have loved her so truly.' What could Mrs.Woodward do but cry also?
what but that, and throw such blame as she could upon her own shoulders?
She was bound to defend her daughter.
'It has been my fault, Harry,' she said; 'it is I whom you must blame, not poor Gertrude.' 'I blame no one,' said he.
'I know you do not; but it is I whom you should blame.

I should have learnt how her heart stood, and have prevented this--but I thought, I thought it would have been otherwise.' Norman looked up at her, and took her hand, and pressed it.

'I will go now,' he said, 'and don't expect me here to-morrow.