“So say I.”
“There is much to think over in it. If I stood alone here, and if my own were the only interests involved, I think—that is, I hope—I know what answer I should give; but there are others. You have seen my sister: you thought she looked thin and delicate—and she may well do so, her cares overtax her strength; and my poor brother, too, that fine-hearted fellow, what is to become of him? And yet, Sedley,” cried he suddenly, “if either of them were to suspect that this—this—what shall I call it?—this arrangement—stood on no basis of right, but was simply an act of generous forbearance, I 'd stake my life on it, they 'd refuse it.”
“You must not consult them, then, that's clear.”
“But I will not decide till I do so.”
“Oh, for five minutes—only five minutes—of your poor father's strong sense and sound intellect, and I might send off my telegram to-night!” And with this speech, delivered slowly and determinately, the old man arose, took his bedroom candle, and walked away.
CHAPTER LXIV. A FIRST GLEAM OF LIGHT.
After a sleepless, anxious night, in which he canvassed all that Sedley had told him, Bramleigh presented himself at Jack's bedside as the day was breaking. Though the sailor was not worldly wise, nor endowed with much knowledge of life, he had, as Augustus knew, a rough-and-ready judgment which, allied to a spirit of high honor, rarely failed in detecting that course which in the long run proved best. Jack, too, was no casuist, no hair-splitter; he took wide, commonplace views, and in this way was sure to do what nine out of ten ordinary men would approve of, and this was the sort of counsel that Bramleigh now desired to set side by side with his own deeply considered opinion.
Jack listened attentively to his brother's explanation, not once interrupting him by a word or a question till he had finished, and then, laying his hand gently on the other's, said, “You know well, Gusty, that you could n't do this.”
“I thought you would say so, Jack.”