Her words were calm, and he answered, "I waited, for I did not know how to answer--nor do I now." "And yet you have had some impression--some feeling--some conviction.

Yon know whether it is necessary that you should come--whether she wants you for an hour's chat, as an old friend--or--or"-- she waited a moment, and added--"or as something else." As Lawrence Newt stood before her he remembered curiously his interview with Aunt Martha, but he could not say to Mrs.Simcoe what he had said to her.
"What can I say ?" he asked at length, in a troubled voice.
"Lawrence Newt, say if you think she loves you, and tell me," she said, drawing herself erect and back from him, as in the twilight of the old library at Pinewood, while her thin finger was pointed upward--"tell me, as you will be judged hereafter--me, to whom her mother gave her as she died, knowing that she loved you." Her voice died away, overpowered by emotion.

She still looked at him, and suspicion, incredulity, and scorn were mingled in her look, while her uplifted finger still shook, as if appealing to Heaven.

Then she asked abruptly, and fiercely, "To which, in the name of God, are you false--the mother or the daughter ?" "Stop!" replied Lawrence Newt, in a tone so imperious that the hand of his companion fell at her side, and the scorn and suspicion faded from her eyes.

"Mrs.Simcoe, there are things that even you must not say.