"One of my husband's friends," answered Susan, in some confusion.
"And yours?"—eyeing her closely.
"Oh, he comes frequently to the house; I see him occasionally."
"'Tis he who gave Pendlam that bottle of wine?"
"I believe so."
"And that flogging, Susan!"
"Oh, they have made that up," said Susan, innocently.
"If they are satisfied, I have nothing to say. Are you happy, Susan?" for a change had come over her, which I did not readily understand.
"Oh, dear!" said Susan, "we have had so much trouble!" She began to give way to her emotions. "We have lost all our old friends. Mother never comes near us now. Sometimes I don't know what we shall do. Tell me what you think of it;—is Henry so much out of the way as people think? He certainly knows more than anybody else, and I don't see how he can be wrong." She ended with a sob.
"You are aware," I answered, "that Pendlam and I partly agree in every thing, and wholly agree in nothing. He is right, and he is wrong. He takes hold of what is a truth, but detaches it from universal truth, and so it becomes an error." I saw she did not comprehend. "But never despair," I added, "The future depends upon you."