As he spoke,--the recollection of his wife--sour, querulous, austere-- came over him, but he said to himself, "She must take to such a child,-- women always take to beauty." He bent down and gently pressed his lips to Sidney's forehead: Mrs. Morton replaced the shawl, and drew her brother to the other end of the room. "And now," she said, colouring as she spoke, "I must see your wife, brother: there is so much to say about a child that only a woman will recollect. Is she very good-tempered and kind, your wife? You know I never saw her; you married after--after I left." "She is a very worthy woman," said Mr. Morton, clearing his throat, "and brought me some money; she has a will of her own, as most women have; but that's neither here nor there--she is a good wife as wives go; and prudent and painstaking--I don't know what I should do without her." "Brother, I have one favour to request--a great favour." "Anything I can do in the way of money?" "It has nothing to do with money. I can't live long--don't shake your head--I can't live long. I have no fear for Philip, he has so much spirit--such strength of character--but that child! I cannot bear to leave him altogether; let me stay in this town--I can lodge anywhere; but to see him sometimes--to know I shall be in reach if he is ill--let me stay here--let me die here!" "You must not talk so sadly--you are young yet--younger than I am--I don't think of dying." "Heaven forbid! but--" "Well--well," interrupted Mr. Morton, who began to fear his feelings would hurry him into some promise which his wife would not suffer him to keep; "you shall talk to Margaret,--that is Mrs. Morton--I will get her to see you--yes, I think I can contrive that; and if you can arrange with her to stay,--but you see, as she brought the money, and is a very particular woman--" "I will see her; thank you--thank you; she cannot refuse me." "And, brother," resumed Mrs. Morton, after a short pause, and speaking in a firm voice--"and is it possible that you disbelieve my story?--that you, like all the rest, consider my children the sons of shame?" There was an honest earnestness in Catherine's voice, as she spoke, that might have convinced many. But Mr. Morton was a man of facts, a practical man--a man who believed that law was always right, and that the improbable was never true. He looked down as he answered, "I think you have been a very ill-used woman, Catherine, and that is all I can say on the matter; let us drop the subject." "No! I was not ill-used; my husband--yes, my husband--was noble and generous from first to last. It was for the sake of his children's prospects--for the expectations they, through him, might derive from his proud uncle--that he concealed our marriage. Do not blame Philip--do not condemn the dead."