A Roman Catholic Irish girl of whom nothing was known but that her mother was said to be a widow, was, in Lady Scroope's eyes, as formidable a danger as could come in the way of her husband's heir.

Fred Neville was, she thought, with all his good qualities, exactly the man to fall in love with a wild Irish girl.

If Fred were to write home some day and say that he was about to marry such a bride,--or, worse again, that he had married her, the tidings would nearly kill the Earl.

After all that had been endured, such a termination to the hopes of the family would be too cruel! And Lady Scroope could not but feel the injustice of it.

Every thing was being done for this heir, for whom nothing need have been done.