—Tennyson.
The great old-fashioned hall clock was striking the quarter before twelve when Richard Hammond re-entered the drawing-room.
He found General Lyon and Dr. Barbar still there, seated in large arm-chairs each side of the fire-place. They seemed to be discussing the events of the evening.
“Yes, old friend, my dog of a nephew, like that other grand rascal of old, has ‘spoiled the feast, broke the good meeting, with, most admired disorder,’” sighed the general.
“Ah, my dear sir, he is young, and we must be charitable. Even David, the man after the Lord’s own heart, had to pray that the sins of his youth might not be remembered against him. Give the young man time to recollect himself and to reform. But I feel very sorry for the poor wife—she seems but a mere child.”
“She is but sixteen or seventeen,” said General Lyon.
“Ah dear, how sad! She seems to love him much.”
“She loves a villain then, and must suffer accordingly.”
“Will he never be reconciled to her, do you think?”
“Can she ever be reconciled to him? That is the question. ‘My spirit shall not always strive with man,’ saith the Lord. And if the Divine Spirit wearies of the fruitless struggle with Evil, how much sooner shall the human spirit sink? For myself, I should not wonder if she should experience such a revulsion of feeling as should make the very thought of that man hateful to her. But in any case her home is here, under our protection, until such time as he shall repent and show himself worthy to reclaim her hand, if that time ever should come. Ah! here is Dick. How did you leave our young charge, my boy?” inquired the general, for the first time conscious of Richard’s presence.