"You need not speak, Luke," he said sadly. "Do you think we have lived all these years without my understanding my brother, and knowing what he is at heart?" Luke shook his head, gripped the hand which held his firmly, but could not speak. "I am going to bear it like a man, please God; but it is hard, Luke, hard; and but for poor Louise's sake I could wish that my journey was done." "No, no; no, no, George," said the brother huskily. "There is, lad, much to do here yet--for you, my boy--for Louise--that poor, half-crazy woman up-stairs, and Uncle Luke, who is not much better, so they say. No, my boy, you must fight--you must bear, and bear it bravely, as you will, as soon as this first shock is over, and there's always hope-- always hope. The poor boy may have escaped." "Ay, to where? Luke, brother, for Heaven's sake let me be in peace. I cannot bear to speak now. I feel as if the strain is too great for my poor brain." Luke pressed his hand, and walked slowly to the window, from whence he could gaze down at the boats going; and coming into the harbour; and he shuddered as he thought what any one of them might bring. "Better it should, and at once," he said to himself. "He'll know no rest until that is past." He turned and looked in wonder at the door, which opened then, and Aunt Marguerite, dressed in one of her stiffest brocades, pale, but with her eyes stern and fierce, entered the room, to sweep slowly across, till she was opposite to George Vine, when she crossed her arms over her breast, and began to beat her shoulder with her large ivory fan, the thin leaves making a peculiar pattering noise against her whalebone stiffened bodice. "Don't talk to him, Margaret," said Uncle Luke, coming forward. "He is not fit. Say what you have to say another time." "Silence! you poor weak imbecile!" she cried, as her eyes flashed at him. "What do you do here at a time like this? Now," she continued, darting a vindictive look at her broken-hearted brother, "what have you to say?" "To say, Margaret?" he replied piteously. "God help me, what can I say?" "Nothing, miserable that you are. The judgment has come upon you at last. Have I not striven to save that poor murdered boy from you--to raise him from the slough into which you plunged him in your wretched degradation. Time after time I have raised my voice, but it has been unheard. I have been treated as your wretched dependant, who could not even say her soul was her own, and with my heart bleeding, I have seen--" "Margaret, you were always crazy," cried Uncle Luke fiercely; "are you raving mad?" "Yes," she cried. "Worm, pitiful crawling worm. You are my brother by birth, but what have I seen of you but your wretched selfish life--of you who sold your birthright to sink into the degraded creature you are, so degraded that you side with this man against me, now that he is worthily punished for his crime against his son."