"You will find me in the drawing-room, Uncle Jasper."
"One word, Charlotte, before you go," said her uncle. "No, child, I am not going to the drawing-room. You two lovers may have it to yourselves. But—but—you remember our talk of last night?"
"Yes," answered Charlotte, pausing, and coming back a little way into the room. "Did you say anything to my father? Will he help Mrs. Home?"
"I have no doubt he will, my dear. Your father and I will both do something. He is a very just man, is your father. He was a good deal upset by this reference to his early days, and to his quarrel with his own father. I believe, between you and me, that it was that which made him ill this evening. But, Charlotte, you leave Mrs. Home to us. I will mention her case again when your father is more fit to bear the subject. What I wanted to say now, my dear, is this, that I think it would best please the dear old man if—if you told nothing of this strange tale, not even to Hinton, my dear."
"Why, Uncle Jasper?"
"Why, my dear child? The reason seems to me obvious enough. It is a story of the past. It relates to an old and painful quarrel. It is all over years ago. And then you could not tell one side of the tale without the other. Mrs. Home, poor thing, not personally knowing your father as one of the best and noblest of men, imputes very grave blame to him. Don't you think such a tale, so false, so wrong, had better be buried in oblivion?"
"Mrs. Home was most unjust in her ignorance," repeated Charlotte. "But, uncle, you are too late in your warning, for I told John the whole story already to-day."
Not a muscle of Uncle Jasper's face changed.
"Well, child, I should have said that to you last night. After all, it is natural. Hinton won't let it go farther, and no harm is done."
"Certainly, John does not speak of my most sacred things," answered Charlotte proudly.