"I shall look after her welfare, never fear," said the lady.
"But suppose they should take a notion to marry; what would you do to stop 'em?"
"Oh, well, that is a question for the future," replied the lady, serenely. "It will be time enough to discuss that matter when the necessity arises."
Her composure, her indifference, caused Silas to writhe and squirm in his chair, and she, seeing the torture she was inflicting, appeared to be very well content.
"I didn't come to argue," said Silas presently. "I came for information; I want to know what you intend to do. I don't ask any favours and I don't want any; I'm getting my deserts, I reckon. What I sowed that I'm reaping."
"Ah!" the lady exclaimed softly, and with an air of satisfaction. "Do you really feel so?" She leaned forward a little, and there was that in her eyes that denoted something else besides satisfaction; compassion shone there. Her mood had not been a serious one up to this point, but she was serious now, and Silas could but observe how beautiful she was. "Do you really feel that I would be justified if I confirmed the suspicions you have expressed?"
"So far as I am concerned, you'd be doing exactly right," said Silas bluntly. "But what about Paul?"
"Well, what about Paul?" Mrs. Claiborne asked.
"Well, for one thing, he's never done you any harm. And there's another thing," said Silas rising from his seat: "I'd be willing to have my body pulled to pieces, inch by inch, and my bones broken, piece by piece, to save that boy one single pang."
He stood towering over the lady. For once he had been taken clean out of himself, and he seemed to be transfigured. Mrs. Claiborne rose also.