‘I daresay,’ said Philip, plucking a pea-pod and chewing it savagely; ‘but don’t you think, Mrs Crawshay, that this is very like throwing cold-water on us, and that throwing cold-water is very apt to produce the misadventure which you think possible?—that is, that something might happen to alter our plans?’
‘I am sorry for that, lad; I do not mean to throw cold-water on thee; but rather to help thee and to help Madge to look at things in a sensible way. Listen. I had a friend once who was like Madge; and she had a friend who was, as it might be, like you, Philip. He went away, as you are going, to seek his fortune in foreign parts. There was a blunder between them, and she got wedded to another man. Her first lad came back, and finding how things were, he went away again and never spoke more to her.’
‘They must have been miserable.’
‘For a while they were miserable enough; but they got over it.’
‘I’ll be bound the man never married.’
‘There thou’dst be bound wrong. He did marry, and is now wealthy and prosperous, though she was taken away in a fever long ago.’
‘Ay, but is he happy?’
‘That is only known to himself and Him that knows us all.’
‘Well, for our future I will trust Madge,’ said Philip, taking her hand, ‘in spite of all your forebodings; and she will trust me.’
Dame Crawshay had filled her basin with peas, and she rose.