The poor fellow was hardly in his grave before the storm burst on Alfred's
head. If Mr. Thorne had barely tolerated the idea of his son's marriage
before, he found it utterly intolerable now; and the decree went forth that
this boyish folly about Miss Percival must be forgotten. "I can do as I
like with Brackenhill," said Mr. Thorne: "remember that." Alfred did
remember it. He had heard it often enough, and his father's angry eyes gave
it an added emphasis. "I can make an eldest son of James if I like, and I
will if you defy me." But nothing could shake Alfred. He had given his word
to Miss Percival, and they loved each other, and he meant to keep to it.
"You don't believe me," his father thundered: "you think I may talk, but
that I sha'n't do it. Take care!" There was no trace of any conflict on
Alfred's face: he looked a little dull and heavy under the bitter storm,
but that was all. "I can't help it, sir," he said, tracing the pattern of
the carpet with the toe of his boot as he stood: "you will do as you
please, I suppose."--"I suppose I shall," said Mr. Thorne.

So Alfred was disinherited. "As well for this as anything else," he said:
"we couldn't have got on long." He had an allowance from his father, who
declined to take any further interest in his plans. He went abroad for a
couple of years--a test which Mr. Percival imposed upon him that nothing
might be done in haste--and came back, faithful as he went, to ask for the
consent which could no longer be denied. Mr. Percival had been presented to
a living at some distance from Brackenhill, and, as there was a good deal
of glebe-land attached to it, Alfred was able to try his hand at farming.
He did so, with a little loss if no gain, and they made one household at
the rectory.

He never seemed to regret Brackenhill. Sarah--dark, ardent, intense, a
strange contrast to his own fair, handsome face and placid
indolence--absorbed all his love. Her eager nature could not rouse him to