“Yes,” said her husband, ironically, “a man with fifty thousand acres of mountain. Faith, Harry, you will be a happy man, and may feed on bilberries all your life; but upon little else, unless you can pick the spare bones of an old maid who has run herself into an asthma in the unsuccessful sport of husband-hunting.” “She will inherit her uncle's property, Lindsay.” “Yes, she will inherit the heather and the bilberries. But go in God's name; work out that project; there is nobody here disposed to hinder you. Only I hope you will ask us to the wedding.” “Mother,” said Woodward, affectionately taking her hand and giving it a significant squeeze; “mother, you must excuse me for what I am about to say”--another squeeze, and a glance which was very well understood--“upon my honor, mother, I must give my verdict for the present”--another squeeze--“against you. You--must be kinder to Charles and Maria, and you must not treat my father with such disrespect and harshness. I wish to become a mediator and pacificator in the family. As for myself, I care not about property; I wish to marry the girl I love. I am not, I trust, a selfish man--God forbid I should; but for the present”--another squeeze--“let me entreat you all to forget this little breeze; urge nothing, precipitate nothing; a little time, perhaps, if we have patience to wait, may restore us all, and everything else we are quarrelling about, to peace and happiness. Charles, I wish to have some conversation with you.” “Harry,” said Lindsay, “I am glad you have spoken as you did; your words do you credit, and your conduct is manly and honorable.” “I do believe, indeed,” said his unsuspecting brother, “that the best thing we could all do would be to put ourselves under his guidance; as for my part I am perfectly willing to do so, Harry. After hearing the good sense you have just uttered, I think you are entitled to every confidence from us all.” “You overrate my abilities, Charles; but not, I hope, the goodness of an affectionate heart that loves you all. Charles, come with me for a few minutes; and, mother, do you also expect a private lecture from me by and by.” “Well,” said the mother, “I suppose I must. If I were only spoken to kindly I could feel as kindly; however, let there be an end to this quarrel as the boy says, and I, as well as Charles, shall be guided by his advice.” “Now, Charles,” said he, when they had gone to another room, “you know what kind! of a woman my mother is; and the truth is, until matters get settled, we will have occasion for a good, deal of patience with her; let us, therefore, exercise it. Like most hot-tempered women, she has a bad memory, and wrests the purport of words too frequently to a wrong meaning. In the account she gave you of what occurred between Alice Goodwin and me, she entirely did.” “But what did occur between Alice Goodwin and you, Harry?”