smooth away his rough commencement, ‘what a comfort to have a Honey that will have patience!’
She shook her head, perplexed. ‘Owen, I wish you could tell me more. I do not like debts. You know, dear boy, I grudge nothing I can do for you in my lifetime; but for your own sake you must learn not to spend more than you will be able to afford. Indulgence now will be a penance to you by and by.’
Honora dreaded overdoing lectures to Owen. She knew that an old maid’s advice to a young man was dangerous work, and her boy’s submissive patience always excited her gratitude and forbearance, so she desisted, in hopes of a confession, looking at him with such tenderness that he was moved to exclaim—‘Honor dear, you are the best and worst-used woman on earth! Would to heaven that we had requited you better!’
‘I have no cause of complaint against you, Owen,’ she said, fondly; ‘you have always been the joy and comfort of my heart;’ and as he turned aside, as though stricken by the words, ‘whatever you may have to reproach yourself with, it is not with hurting me; I only wish to remind you of higher and more stringent duties than those to myself. If you have erred, as I cannot but fear, will you not let me try and smooth the way back?’
‘Impossible,’ murmured Owen; ‘there are things that can never be undone.’
‘Not undone, but repented,’ said Honor, convinced that he had been led astray by his cousin Charles, and felt bound not to expose him; ‘so repented as to become stepping-stones in our progress.’
He only shook his head with a groan.
‘The more sorrow, the better hope,’ she began; but the impatient movement of his foot warned her that she was only torturing him, and she proceeded,—‘Well, I trust you implicitly; I can understand that there may be confidences that ought not to pass between us, and will give you what you require to help you out of your difficulty. I wish you had a father, or any one who could be of more use to you, my poor boy!’ and she began to fill up the cheque to the utmost of his demand.
‘It is too much—too much,’ cried Owen. ‘Honor, I must tell you at all costs. What will you think when—’
‘I do not wish to purchase a confession, Owen,’ she said; ‘you know best whether it be a fit one to make to me, or whether for the sake of others you ought to withhold it.’