“You judge him by yourself, I expect. You, being of calm and well-regulated temperament, can’t understand how a member of your family can be so different from yourself.”
“There you are mistaken, Mitchell, as others have been mistaken before you. People think I am calm because I am fat. As a matter of fact, I have been so worried over these suspicions of my brother that my wife has caught me pacing up and down the room in my sleep, too much disturbed on his account to be able to rest.”
“It does you great credit to be so fond of him; I don’t blame you in the least for it. You do your duty as a brother, and I’ll do mine.”
“And I believe you’ll soon come to the conclusion that it is your duty as a brother to let the unhappy girl and her history be forgotten as soon as possible.”
“My duty as a brother is to leave your brother alone, in fact!”
“Haven’t I told you I believe him to be as innocent of this business as I am myself? But these suspicions, which he can’t ignore—for you take no pains to hide them—are demoralizing in the extreme. They make him silent, sullen, mistrustful; in fact they breed in him all the appearances of guilt.”
“Ay, that they do.”
“Supposing that he had committed the crime, don’t you believe in atonement? After ten years of self-denial and hard work and sacrifice, might not a man reasonably suppose that his sin was, humanly speaking, washed out, and that he might indulge the hope of some human happiness with a woman who loved him?”
Ned Mitchell turned at this, from contemplation of the highly ornamental, castellated tower of the little church, to curious consideration of his companion’s face.
“Oh,” he said very drily, “I didn’t know you were encouraging him to marry.”