“I know my boys’ weaknesses, and I don’t underrate their faults. Cress has great faults,—still I am hopeful for his future. I do not believe he will be any the worse for two years’ absence just now.”
“I am glad you think so,” she repeated. “But now—this about father.”
“You cannot do anything there. You have not the mastery of your father’s conscience.”
“No. But you think there is something—he is making mischief, perhaps?”
“I know Churton,” I said gravely, “perhaps more truly than my husband does. I have suspected for a long while that things were going wrong.”
She pressed her hands together, and murmured, “What can I do?”
“Nothing. The whole affair is in higher Hands, Maimie; and there we must leave it.”
“But one may act—one may do,” she said eagerly. “We must pray first, of course. But if one could do anything too, it would not be wrong. If we can’t, we must only wait.”
And then she sprang to her feet with sparkling eyes.
“I know! I know! I shall write to father.”