But do not be afraid; I am sufficiently afraid to be on my guard. “My father was a rich man, and left my mother more than enough; there was no occasion for her to marry again, except she loved, and I am sure she did not love lord Cairnedge. I wish, for my sake, not for his, he were alive now. But the moment, I am one and twenty, I shall be my own master, and hope, sir, you will not count me unworthy to be the more Belorba's servant. One thing I am determined upon: my mother shall not cross my threshold but at my wife's invitation; and I shall never ask my wife to invite her. She is too dangerous. “We had another altercation about Miss Miles, an hour or two before I first saw Orba. They were far from worthy feelings that possessed me up to the moment when I caught sight of her over the wall. It was a leap out of hell into paradise. The glimpse of such a face, without shadow of scheme or plan or selfish end, was salvation to me. I thank God!” Perhaps I ought not to let those words about myself stand, but he said them. He had talked too long. He fell back in his chair, and the tears began to gather in his eyes. My uncle rose, put his arm about me, and led me to the study. “Let him rest a bit, little one,” he said as we entered. “It is long since we had a good talk!” He seated himself in his think-chair--a name which, when a child, I had given it, and I slid to the floor at his feet. “I cannot help thinking, little one,” he began, “that you are going to be a happy woman! I do believe that is a man to be trusted. As for the mother, there is no occasion to think of her, beyond being on your guard against her. You will have no trouble with her after you are married.” “I cannot help fearing she will do us a mischief, uncle,” I returned. “Sir Philip Sidney says--'Since a man is bound no further to himself than to do wisely, chance is only to trouble them that stand upon chance.' That is, we are responsible only for our actions, not for their results. Trust first in God, then in John Day.” “I was sure you would like him, uncle!” I cried, with a flutter of loving triumph. “I was nearly as sure myself--such confidence had I in the instinct of my little one. I think that I, of the two of us, may, in this instance, claim the greater faith!” “You are always before me, uncle!” I said. “I only follow where you lead. But what do you think the woman will do next?” “I don't think. It is no use. We shall hear of her before long. If all mothers were like her, the world would hardly be saved!” “It would not be worth saving, uncle.” “Whatever can be saved, must be worth saving, my child.” “Yes, uncle; I shouldn't have said that,” I replied. CHAPTER XXIII. LETTER AND ANSWER.