“There is no time to be lost in the settlement of their affairs, you must see,” said Jerome.
“No, certainly.”
“There must be guardians appointed.”
“They are appointed.”
“In your illness, having to act for them, I examined such papers relating to their affairs as I had access to. I found none having reference to what was to follow the death of their mother. None entire, I mean. Was there not to be some change? some new choice? I found some torn morsels of paper, a cancelled instrument of some sort. It is quite as well. The court will be happier in the selection of guardians than that unhappy woman was.”
“There are guardians appointed!” repeated Mr St. Cyr.
“You have forgotten. Your illness has impaired your memory. There was to be a change of names. The former appointment was set aside. You yourself must have had some knowledge of it. You have forgotten.”
Mr St. Cyr looked at his brother with a strange emotion visible in his face.
“My brother, you are not glad of my weakness, are you? Have patience with me. I am weak.”
“That is easily seen. Yes, I will be gentle with you, but I must be faithful too: your weakness shall be helped and shielded by my strength.”