nce has
permitted to happen? Ursula, you forget--they love one another."

This one fact--this solemn upholding of the pre-eminent right and law
of love,--which law John believed in, they both believed in, so
sacredly and firmly--appeared to force itself upon Mrs. Halifax's mind.
Her passion subsided.

"I cannot judge clearly. You can--always. Husband, help me!"

"Poor wife!--poor mother!" he muttered, caressing her, and in that
caress himself all but giving way--"Alas! that I should have brought
thee into such a sea of trouble."

Perhaps he referred to the circumstance of his bringing Miss Silver
into our house; perhaps to his own blindness, or want of parental
caution, in throwing the young people continually together. However,
John was not one to lament over things inevitable; or by overweening
blame of his own want of foresight, to imply a doubt of the foreseeing
of Providence.

"Love," he said, "I fear we have been too anxious to play Deus ex
machina with our children, forgetting in whose Hands are marrying and
giving in marriage--life's crosses and life's crowns. Trouble has come
when we looked not for it. We can but try to see the right course, and
seeing it, to act upon it."

Ursula assented--with a bursting heart it seemed--but still she
assented, believing, even as in her young days, that her husband's will
was wisest, best.

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 he