He told her,in few words,all that Edwin had that day confessed to his father;how these two,being much together,had become attached to one another,as young folks will--couples whom no one would ever think suited each for each,except Nature,and the instinct of their own hearts.Absorbed in this love--which,Edwin solemnly declared,was never openly declared till this morning--they neither of them thought of Guy.And thus things had befallen--things which no earthly power could remove or obliterate--things in which,whatever way we looked,all seemed darkness.We could but walk blindly on,a step at a time,trusting to that Faith,of which all our lives past had borne confirmation--the firm faith that evil itself is to the simple and God-fearing but the disguised messenger of good.
Something like this John said,talking as his wife loved to hear him talk--every quiet,low word dropping like balm upon her grieved heart;not trying to deceive her into the notion that pain is not pain,but showing her how best to bear it.At length she looked up,as if with God's help--and her husband's comforting--she could bear it.
"Only one thing--Guy does not know.He need not know just yet--not till he is stronger.Surely,Edwin will not tell him?""No;he promised me he would not.Do not start so.Indeed,there is no fear."But that very assurance seemed to rouse it.She began straining her ears to catch the least noise in the rooms overhead--the boys'rooms.
Guy and Walter shared one;Edwin had his to himself,"They surely will not meet.Yet Guy sometimes likes sitting over Edwin's fire.Hark!--was not that the creaking of Guy's room-door?""Love--"detaining her.
"I know,John.I am not thinking of going.Guy might suspect something.No,indeed I am not afraid.They were always fond of one another--my boys."She sat down,violently forcing herself not to listen,not to fear.
But the truth was too strong for her.
"Hark!I am sure they are talking.John,you said Edwin promised?""Faithfully promised."
"But if,by some accident,Guy found out the truth?Hark!they are talking very loud.That is a chair fallen.Oh,John--don't keep me!
My boys--my boys."And she ran up-stairs in an agony.
What a sight for a mother's eyes.Two brothers of whom it had been our boast that from babyhood they had never been known to lift a hand against each other--now struggling together like Cain and Abel.And from the fury in their faces,the quarrel might have had a similar ending.
"Guy!--Edwin!"But the mother might as well have shrieked to the winds.
The father came and parted them."Boys,are you gone mad?fighting like brutes in this way.Shame,Guy!Edwin,I trusted you.""I could not help it,father.He had no right to steal into my room;no right to snatch her letter from me."
"It was her letter,then?"cried Guy,furiously."She writes to you?
You were writing back to her?"
Edwin made no answer;but held out his hand for the letter,with that look of white passion in him so rarely seen--perhaps not thrice since his infancy.Guy took no heed.
"Give it me back,Guy;I warn you."
"Not till I have read it.I have a right."
"You have none.She is mine."
"Yours?"Guy laughed in his face.
"Yes,mine.Ask my father--ask my mother.They know.""Mother!"--the letter fell from the poor lad's hand."Mother,YOUwould not deceive me.He only says it to vex me.I was in a passion,I know.Mother,it isn't true?"His piteous tone--the almost childish way in which he caught at her sleeve,as she turned from him--ah,poor Guy!
"Edwin,is it my brother Edwin?Who would have thought it?"Half-bewildered,he looked from one to the other of us all;but no one spoke,no one contradicted him.
Edwin,his passion quite gone,stooped in a sorrowful and humble way to pick up his betrothed's letter.Then Guy flew at him,and caught him by the collar.
"You coward!--how dared you?--No,I won't hurt him;she is fond of him.Go away,every one of you.Oh,mother,mother,mother!"He fell on her neck,sobbing.She gathered him in her arms,as she had used to do in his childhood;and so we left them.
"AS ONE WHOM HIS MOTHER COMFORTETH."
Ay,Prophet of Israel,thou wert wise.
