'Uncle, I have such strong motives that I cannot yield my will to yours this time!'
He smiled cynically.
'My dear Catherine, you have not exhibited any willingness ever to consider my desires rather than your own!'
A hot retort was just springing from her lips, but she restrained the wrong impulse.
'I am sorry, truly sorry, that I have not been able to please you. Had I been in your favour, my task to-day would have been so much easier. Uncle, let me stand beside you; I can talk better when I stand, and I am tall enough to look right into your eyes! Don't be angry with me, dear! You were never vexed with "little Catherine" in the old days. Do you recollect one great argument we had about the necessity for men, as well as women, to lead religious lives? I was only a child; it was not easy for me to bear my part in that argument. I lost my temper, and behaved very impertinently to you, I'm afraid, yet you were not angry—certainly not the least bit sarcastic! When I apologised afterwards, you told me you "liked my spirited defence of that which I believed right!"'
The squire's expression softened, and he laid his hand on that small but firm one which had stolen through his arm.
'Are you preparing to lose your temper again, Catherine?'
'No, I will try not to do so; I don't think I shall want to. Uncle Ross, you have not the least idea how unhappy this family quarrel is making your brother. He longs for your friendship, for the old affection between you. He told me, only a little while ago, that he would gladly give the remainder of his life in exchange for the reconciliation; only God does not let His creatures bargain with Him in that way. I have come here to-day to plead for Uncle Jack, not to begin by defending him. I appeal to your sense of generosity first, to your memory of the love that united you brothers in your childhood, youth, and young manhood.'
'There is an insuperable obstacle against the proposed reconciliation.'
Catherine watched his face as he spoke this quiet sentence. Yes, there was the obstacle of his false pride. He would not confess himself in the wrong; he could not endure the thought of humbling himself. The harsh tone of voice, the fixed tension of the brows, the weary, cynical smile—all these betokened the squire's sacrifice to his idol, Self.