nd it out somehow, and he had made her
take a part--I can't tell what. She would never open her lips on the
subject again. Only that once it all burst forth. Oh, divorce! What
would that do to her, besides the shame? You understand some things,
John," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with a smile, "though you are a man. She
would never do anything to give herself a name different from her
child's."

"Yes," said John, with a laugh, "I think I understand a thing or two,
though, as you say, my dear aunt, I am only a man. However, it is
just as well I am that imperfect creature, to take care of you. It
understands the tactics of the wicked better than you do. And now you
must persuade Elinor and persuade yourself of what I came here on
purpose to tell you--not to disturb you, as I have been so unfortunate
as to do. You are perfectly safe from him. I will not let the enemy know
your sentiments, or how decided you are on the subject. I will perhaps,
if you will let me, crack the whip a little over their heads, and keep
them in a pleasing uncertainty. But as long as he is afraid that she
will take proceedings against him, he will take none, you may be sure,
against her. So you may throw aside all your precautions and be happy
over your treasure in your own way."

"Thank God for what you say, John; you take a weight off my heart. But
happy--how can you speak of being happy after such a catastrophe?"

"I thought I came in upon a very happy little scene. It might be only
pretence, but it looked uncommonly like the real thing."

"You mean the baby, John, the dear infant that knows no harm. He does
take off our thoughts a little, and enable us to bear----"

"Oh, aunt, don't be a hypocrite; that was never a fault of yours.
Confess that with all your misery about Elinor you are happy to have her
here and her child--notwithstanding everything--happy as you have not
been for many a day."

She sat down by him and gave him her hand. "John, to be a man you have
wonderful insight, and it's I who am a very, very imperfect creature.
You don't think worse of me to be glad to have her, even though it is
purchased by such misery and trouble? God knows," cried the poor lady,
drying her eyes, "that I would give her up to-morrow, and with joy, and
consent never to see her again, if that would be for her happiness.
John! I've not thrust myself upon them, have I, nor done anything
against him, nor said a word? But now that she is here, and the baby,
and