“Nathanael,” cried Harrie, from the fireside group, “come and give us your opinion. I say that he ought to be sent for at once.”
“Who?”
“Frederick”
Nathanael cried out violently, as if self-control were no longer possible.
“Never! Here have I used every effort, smothered every feeling, made every sacrifice, to save my poor father from knowing all this—and in vain! You may talk as you like, but I say Frederick shall never enter these doors. He is as good as his father's murderer.”
“Hush!” cried Anne Valery, going to him while the others stood aghast. She only knew what fearful storms can be roused in these quiet natures.
“I will not hush. I have been silent too long over his wrong-doing.”
“But some”—breathed Anne scarce audibly—“some whom he wronged have been silent for a lifetime.”
Nathanael paused; Anne's reasoning was from facts unknown to him; but he saw the agony in her face. She continued in a whisper:
“Be slow to judge him, if only for his sisters' sakes—his dead mother's—the honour of the family.”