“Hush!” he cried, almost fiercely. “Not one disloyal word against her, mother. It was my ill-balanced nature led me wrong, and she never came between you and me.”
“Forgive me, my boy,” cried Mrs Alleyne, as he took her in his arms. “I know, I know. Always my own true loving son. But it seems so hard that she should have treated you as she did.”
“Hush, mother! Hush!” he replied. “She was not to blame.”
“Not to blame?” retorted Mrs Alleyne. “You defend her, but, had she not led you on by her soft words and wiles, you had never come to think of her like this. But she will repent: so sure as she marries that man, she will bitterly repent.”
“You are giving me cruel pain, mother,” said Alleyne sadly.
“My boy! my own brave boy!” cried Mrs Alleyne, clinging to him. “I will say no more! I will be silent, indeed. No word on the subject shall ever leave my lips again. There: forgive me.”
“Forgive you, mother!” he said softly, as he drew her more closely, and kissed her lips, “I have nothing to forgive. You felt what you thought to be a just indignation on my behalf. It is so easy to think those we love must be in the right, so hard to see when we alone are in the wrong. There, let us talk about it no more, for—Why, Lucy! what is the matter?”
Lucy hurried into the observatory, looking hot and excited, threw herself into a chair, sobbing hysterically, and for some time not a word could be obtained from her.
Mrs Alleyne was the first to get an answer, as she at last exclaimed,—
“Then someone has insulted you?”