"Yes, yes," she murmured through her fast falling tears; "I know, I feel it must be a fearful trial; your father's dreadful death, the melancholy destruction of your home. But—but, Mr. Trevor, it is the hand of the Almighty—His great and terrible hand—we must look upon it as such; and," lifting up her streaming eyes, "hope for His loving-mercies to shine forth once again. There has been much of dark and terrible in the past, but let us pray that the future may atone. Yes, you have returned, and all may still be right."
"You think so," he replied gently, but still most mournfully; then averting his face, added in low and sterner accents of interrogation: "and my brother?"
"He has been ill," was Mary's low reply, "suffering, it is to be feared, as much from mental anxiety as from physical pain. Oh, Mr. Trevor, your coming to him indeed must prove a relief—a relief from the worst of sufferings—suspense."
"What has he to fear?" demanded Eustace Trevor.
"What? You will learn too soon the desperate nature of your brother's position, unless, indeed, he finds in you one more generous and forgiving than he has any right or reason to expect."
Mary spoke earnestly, but with firmness, almost severity; and as she uttered these last words Eustace Trevor turned and anxiously regarded her.
"Eugene need have no fears on any pecuniary account," he again repeated; "he will find in me one who cannot set too low a value on that of which he strove so hard to deprive me. Surely you, Miss Seaham, could not have believed me capable of so poor and contemptible a spirit of revenge, as to entertain any doubt or fear as regards my conduct in that respect?"
"No, no," Mary replied, with trembling fervour; "I might have rested well assured as to what must be the high and holy character of your revenge. 'If your enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink;' and oh, Mr. Trevor, by so doing, coals of fire will indeed be heaped upon your unhappy brother's head. But, alas! can he suppose you capable of such magnanimity—he of so different a spirit to your own?"
There was a spirit in the mild eyes, a colour on the pale cheek turned towards him, as she thus expressed herself, which caused a corresponding glow to illumine the countenance of her listener, and with still greater earnestness he regarded her.
Mary turned away, bending her head over the boy, who had again drawn caressingly to her side, whilst in low, faltering accents she replied to his inquiries, whether she had come to Silverton since the fire?