"Guy taught Edwin to walk. Edwin made Guy learn his letters. How fond they were of one another—those two boys. Now—brother will be set against brother! They will never feel like brothers—never again."
"Love—"
"Don't, John! don't speak to me just yet. It is so terrible to think of. Both my boys—both my two noble boys! to be made miserable for that girl's sake. Oh! that she had never darkened our doors. Oh! that she had never been born."
"Nay, you must not speak thus. Remember—Edwin loves her—she will be Edwin's wife."
"Never!" cried the mother, desperately; "I will not allow it. Guy is the eldest. His brother has acted meanly. So has she. No, John, I will NOT allow it."
"You will not allow what has already happened—what Providence has permitted to happen? Ursula, you forget—they love one another."
This one fact—this solemn upholding of the pre-eminent right and law of love,—which law John believed in, they both believed in, so sacredly and firmly—appeared to force itself upon Mrs. Halifax's mind. Her passion subsided.
"I cannot judge clearly. You can—always. Husband, help me!"
"Poor wife!—poor mother!" he muttered, caressing her, and in that caress himself all but giving way—"Alas! that I should have brought thee into such a sea of trouble."
Perhaps he referred to the circumstance of his bringing Miss Silver into our house; perhaps to his own blindness, or want of parental caution, in throwing the young people continually together. However, John was not one to lament over things inevitable; or by overweening blame of his own want of foresight, to imply a doubt of the foreseeing of Providence.