“No wonder! Then we may go on! But, indeed, to believe you her son, would be to doubt you! I don't believe it.”
“You could not help doubting me!” responded John. “—I might be true, though, even if I were her son!” he added.
“Ed,” said Edmund to Edward, “let us lay our heads together!”
“Ready Ed!” said Edward to Edmund.
Thereupon they began comparing memories and recollections,—to find, however, that they had by no means data enough. One thing was clear to me—that nothing would be too bad for them to believe of her.
“She would pick out the eye of a corpse if she thought a sovereign lay behind it!” said uncle Edmund.
“To have the turning over of his rents,—” said uncle Edward, and checked himself.
“Yes—it would be just one of her devil-tricks!” agreed uncle Edmund.
“I beg your pardon, John,” said uncle Edward, as if it were he that had used the phrase, and uncle Edmund nodded to John, as if he had himself made the apology.
John said nothing. His eyes looked wild with hope. He felt like one who, having been taught that he is a child of the devil, begins to know that God is his father—the one discovery worth making by son of man.