"I am going out for an hour or two," he said; "I have been suffering with headache all night. The air seems close to me in-doors. After I come back, will that be time enough, Ralph?"
"I don't know. Yes, of course it will—there is no hurry," answered the impetuous boy, "only I'm so vexed and troubled just now."
"Well, come up to my room. It does not matter much if I go or not—this miserable headache will not probably be driven away."
"No, I can wait. You ought to ride out. How pale you are! Why, your face is quite changed! Indeed, brother James, I will not speak another word till you get back. I wonder what has come over us all this morning. Poor mother ill—the General out of sorts—you with a headache, and I, yes, I may as well own up—I have got something so near heart-sickness here, that—but never mind—I'll shake it off, or know the reason why. But one word, James, did you ever think my mother an illiberal woman?"
"Illiberal, Ralph? Your mother!"
"Well, I mean this. Is she a woman to reject beauty and worth, and everything estimable, because—" James Harrington cut the question short by laying a hand on his brother's shoulder somewhat heavily.
"Your mother, Ralph, is a woman so much above question in all her actions and motives, that even these half-doubts in her son are sacrilegious."
The color rushed up to Ralph's forehead. First he had lost confidence in Lina—now, in his mother.
"If you have a doubt of your mother, speak it to her," said James more gently, as he drew on his riding gloves. "After that, I will talk with you!"
"I wonder what has come over me—James is offended; I never saw him so grave before," muttered Ralph, as his brother moved down the hall.