“Hush!” said Mr. Brownlow, rising from his chair. He could not bear this; thanking God, as if God did not know well enough, too well, how the real state of the matter was! He was not a man used to deception, or who could adapt himself to it readily. He had all the habits of an honest life against him, and that impulse to speak truth and do right which he struggled with as if it were a temptation. Thus his position was awfully the reverse of that of a man tempting and falling. He was doing wrong with all the force of his will, and striving against his own inclination and instinct of uprightness; but here was one thing beyond his strength. To bring God in, and render him, as it were, a party, was more than he could bear. “I am not so kind as you think,” he said hoarsely. “I am not--I mean your son deserves all that I can do.” “Oh, sir, that’s kind--that’s kindness itself to say so,” cried the poor mother. “Nothing that could be said is so kind as that--and me, that was beginning to lose faith in him! It was to ask you to speak to him, Mr. Brownlow. If you were to ask him, he might open his heart to you. A gentleman is different from a poor woman. Not that any body could feel for him like me, but he would think such a deal of your advice. If you would speak and get him to open his heart. That’s what I wanted to ask you, if it’s not too much. If you would be so kind--and God knows, if ever it was in my power or my children’s, though I’m but a poor creature, to do any thing in this world that would be a service to you--”