"Perhaps he would, perhaps not. What is the use of stirring up the waters and making a storm, when everything is quiet now?"
"But my father cannot help seeing that something has happened to me. I can never be as I was before."
"Wait and see," replied the more philosophic young man.
A letter came from Mr. Montague a few days later. It was in the usual quiet tone, with the gossip and news of the town. Edward dreaded the thought of disturbing the serenity of his father's life. He felt now that he ought not to have deceived the old gentleman; that it would have been better to face his wrath. He was sure that his own and Sara's happiness required that he should marry her; and he could not reproach himself for this step. But by this miserable deception—successful as it had been—he had stepped from the high plane of honor and truth. He was utterly dissatisfied with himself; and all the more so because he realized that his wife was worthy of all the sacrifice he could have made for her sake. Tom Barkesdale reasoned from a different point of view, and insisted that the matter was best as it was. Edward had done right in marrying Sara, and it was quite proper to save Mr. Montague from the pain and misery of a useless opposition.
Then came another letter from Mrs. Wayland, announcing her safe arrival in New York and the illness of Mr. Medway.
"I must go to New York at once," said Edward.
"Don't you do it. You will undo everything that has been done, if you do. Probably Mr. Medway has been seasick overmuch. He will be all right in a few days. Wait till you hear again, at least."
He did wait, and the next letter informed him of the death of his father-in-law, and that his remains had been sent to his friends in Maine. Mrs. Wayland added that she should go to Camden at once, where a letter from him would reach her.
"It is no use for you to go now, Ned," said Tom. "You can do no good."
"I ought to have gone before."