“Yes, I do! Do you think I am jealous or fearful of my wife? No, by Heaven! No! Sophy may be unlearned and unfashionable, but she is loyal and true, and if she wants to see her old lover and his sister, she has my full permission. As for the fisherman, he behaved very nobly. And I did not intend to strike him. It was an accident, and I shall apologise for it the first opportunity I have to do so.”
“You are a fool, Archie Braelands.”
“I am a husband, who knows his wife’s heart and who trusts in it. And though I think you are quite right in your ideas about Sophy’s education, I do not think you are right in objecting to her seeing her old friends. Every one in this bound of Fife knows that I married a fisher-girl. I never intend to be ashamed of the fact. If our social world will accept her as the representative of my honour and my family, I shall be obliged to the world. If it will not, I can live without its approval—having Sophy to love me and live with me. I counted all this cost before I married; you may be sure of that, Mother.”
“You forgot, however, to take my honour and feelings into your consideration.”
“I knew, Mother, that you were well able to protect your own honour and feelings.”
This conversation but indicates the tone of many others which occupied the hours mother and son passed together during Sophy’s convalescence. And the son, being the weaker character of the two, was insensibly moved and moulded to all Madame’s opinions. Indeed, before Sophy was well enough to begin the course of study marked out for her, Archie had become thoroughly convinced that it was his first duty to his wife and himself to insist upon it.
The weak, loving woman made no objections. Indeed, Archie’s evident enthusiasm sensibly affected her own desires. She listened with pleasure to the plans for her education, and promised “as soon as she was able, to do her very best.”
And there was a strange pathos in the few words “as soon as I am able,” which Archie remembered years afterwards, when it was far too late. At the moment, they touched him but lightly, but Oh, afterwards! Oh, afterwards! when memory brought back the vision of the small white face on the white pillow, and the faint golden light of the golden curls shadowing the large blue eyes that even then had in them that wide gaze and wistfulness that marks those predestined for sorrow or early death. Alas! Alas! We see too late, we hear too late, when it is the dead who open the eyes and the ears of the living!