"Chastise thy brother Anthony!" repeated Anna in astonishment.
Herbert, for the first time, told her of the unpleasantness that existed between his brother and himself. He did not mention the precise cause; but simply said Anthony had behaved ill to him, and drawn down upon him trouble and vexation. Anna was all sympathy. Had Herbert told her the offence had lain on his side, not on Anthony's, her entire sympathy had still been his. She deemed Herbert everything that was good and great and worthy. Anthony—what little she knew of him—she did not like.
"Herbert, maybe he will be striking thee in secret, when thee art unprepared."
"Let him!" carelessly replied Herbert. "I can strike again. I am stronger than he is. I know one thing: either he or I must leave my father's house and take lodgings; we can't remain in it together."
"It would be he to leave, would it not, Herbert? Thy father would not be so unjust as to turn thee out for thy brother's fault."
"I don't know about that," said Herbert. "I expect it is I who would have to go. Anthony is the eldest, and my mother's favourite."
Anna lifted her hand, in her innocent surprise. Anthony the favourite by the side of Herbert? She could not understand how so great an anomaly could exist.
Interested in the topic, the time slipped on. During a moment of silence, when they had halted in their walk, they heard what was called the ten o'clock bell strike out from Helstonleigh: a bell that boomed out over the city every night for ten minutes before ten o'clock. The sound startled Anna. She had indeed overstayed her time.
"One moment, Anna!" cried Herbert, as she was preparing to fly off. "There can't be any such hurry. Hester will not be going to bed yet, on a hot night like this. I wanted you to return me that book, if you have done with it. It is not mine, and I have been asked for it."
Truth to say, Anna would be glad to return it. The book was Moore's "Lalla Rookh," and Anna had been upon thorns all the time she had been reading it, lest by some unlucky mishap it might reach the eyes of Patience. She thought it everything that was beautiful; she had read pages of it over and over again; they wore for her a strange enchantment; but she had a shrewd suspicion that neither book nor reading would be approved by Patience.