and, of course, low-bred--who wanted to inveigle her rich and careless
paramour into marriage; what could be expected from the man she had
sought to injure--the rightful heir? Was it not very good in him to do
anything for her, and, if he provided for the children suitably to the
original station of the mother, did he not go to the very utmost of
reasonable expectation? He certainly thought in his conscience, such as
it was, that he had acted well--not extravagantly, not foolishly; but
well. He was sure the world would say so if it knew all: he was not
bound to do anything. He was not, therefore, prepared for Catherine's
short, haughty, but temperate reply to his letter: a reply which conveyed
a decided refusal of his offers--asserted positively her own marriage,
and the claims of her children--intimated legal proceedings--and was
signed in the name of Catherine Beaufort. Mr. Beaufort put the letter in
his bureau, labelled, "Impertinent answer from Mrs. Morton, Sept. 14,"
and was quite contented to forget the existence of the writer, until his
lawyer, Mr. Blackwell, informed him that a suit had been instituted by
Catherine.

Mr. Robert turned pale, but Blackwell composed him.

"Pooh, sir! you have nothing to fear. It is but an attempt to extort
money: the attorney is a low practitioner, accustomed to get up bad
cases: they can make nothing of it."

This was true: whatever the rights of the case, poor Catherine had no
proofs--no evidence--which could justify a respectable lawyer to advise
her proceeding to a suit. She named two witnesses of her marriage--one
dead, the other could not be heard of. She selected for the alleged
place in which the ceremony was performed a very remote village, in which
it appeared that the register had been destroyed. No attested copy