It was a bitter thing to say of a father, but then the facts hadn't been sweet; and his mother, at least, knew how much besides bitterness had been developed by them. It was seldom that she referred to those days that were past, but she had touched on them for a purpose now. Her son's love for her had deepened with the necessity of protecting her; in alluding to that, she knew that she was pulling at her strongest hold on him. Certainly she was, as he called her, a clever old woman.
"Perhaps I am unreasonable," she said. "Evidence is against the preacher, and, as you say, he'll be convicted by the jury, not by you. I should rejoice to see the man who tried to kill you on the gallows; but, George, I still believe that that man is innocent. Don't laugh again and talk to me of heaven."
"Well, I won't," said George; "for, in sober earnest, mother, I must say that I think heaven has had precious little to do with the affair from first to last. I am sure the preacher's marriage was concocted in the other place. I should like to ask him what he thinks of personal inspiration when he knows what I've found. But I won't quote his jargon to you if it makes you sick. I allow it was my own luck and promptitude that put into my hand the rope that will throttle him. After all, I've always found myself the only safe thing to trust to!"
"Very well, my son," said Mrs. Sauls. "But, if you respect nothing beyond yourself, you must be careful not to lose that self-respect."
George Sauls looked at her in surprise; his mother seldom spoke so to him; for, with all their apparent frankness to each other, both had a good deal of reserve, partly born of a horror of cant. She felt nervous at having said so much, but he didn't laugh this time.
"My dear mother, you are getting quite miserable; and neither I nor the preacher, even supposing him to be as good as he looks, is worth that," he said kindly. "I believe I've been holding forth like a stage villain; but, after all, I am not meditating any villainies. Some one comes behind me in the dark and tries to murder me; I have the man, who, I believe, did it, arrested, and then a fortunate chance puts clinching proof of his guilt into my hand. Naturally I shall produce it. As it happens, I hated Barnabas Thorpe before; but I assure you that I should act in precisely the same way if there had been no former quarrel between us, and I should be quite right. I am doing nothing unfair; you needn't be unhappy; I can't imagine why you are. I wish you would go to bed, and forget the preacher. I can't think what makes you so soft about him; you've heard of men being hanged before now. Look here, I've got a lot of writing to do to-night, and don't want to have to sit up till the small hours. To do that is very bad for my head, which ought to be of a great deal more importance to you than Barnabas Thorpe's neck. Good-night."
He gave her a kiss as he spoke. She had been very foolish and unlike her ordinary cheerful self to-day; but then he was aware that he too had been rather excited, and his kiss was all the warmer because he had been momentarily angry, and because she had called herself old and feeble. Certainly her tenacity of purpose was not feeble.
When her son stooped to kiss her, she made up her mind to gain her point, and she appealed instinctively to the most vulnerable part of George. He might be hard-headed, like his father, but he possessed something that his father had lacked.
"My boy, you are quite within your rights," she said. "But let me be 'unreasonable and soft' for once, and give me this fancy just because I am your old mother and ask you for it."
"What do you ask?" said George. "If it is anything on the preacher's behalf, please don't ask it; for I don't like refusing you, and you don't at all like being refused."