The sisters sat in perfect silence till his return.
“Matilda?” said Margaret, looking up at her brother.
“She is very ill;—not likely to be better.”
“And poor Mrs Howell is gone,” said Hester. “What a sweep it is! Did you hear, love? Mrs Howell is dead.”
“I hear. It is a terrible destruction that we have witnessed. But I trust it is nearly over. I know of only one or two cases of danger now, besides this little girl’s. Poor Matilda! But we have little thought to spare, even for her, to-night. If I did not know that Margaret is ready for whatever may betide,” he continued, fixing his benevolent gaze upon her, “and if, moreover, I were not afraid that some one would be coming to tell my news if I do not get it out at once, I should hesitate about saying what I have to say.”
“Philip has been explaining—He is coming,” said Margaret, with such calmness as she could command.
“Enderby is coming; and some one else, whose explanations are more to the purpose, has been explaining. Mrs Rowland, alarmed and shaken by her misery, has been acknowledging the whole series of falsehoods by which she persuaded, convinced her brother that you did not love him—that you were, in fact, attached elsewhere. I see how angry you are, Hester. I see you asking in your own mind how Enderby could be thus deluded—how he could trust his sister rather than Margaret—how I can speak of him as deserving to have her after all this. Your questions are reasonable enough, love, and yet they cannot be answered. Your doubts of Enderby are reasonable enough; and yet I declare to you that he is in my eyes almost, if not quite, blameless.”
“Thank you, brother!” said Margaret, looking up with swimming eyes.
“There is one great point to be settled,” resumed Hope: “and that is, whether you will both be content to bury in silence the subject of this quarrel, from this hour, relying upon my testimony and Mrs Rowland’s.”
“Oh, Edward, do not put your name and hers together!”