'But you did not directly counsel him to enter the army, did you, uncle?'

'No, no; I never counselled him to refuse to obey the wishes of the uncle to whom he owed all. I only pleaded with Ross for him, and no doubt I talked to him a great deal about the service--I could not help that; and he used to question me so eagerly. Yet I have no doubt that I was to blame, as Ross says I was, for the lad's rebellion and decision.'

Catherine rose, and kissed the old man's forehead before leaving him.

'I do not believe that Loring ever regretted his decision or ceased to be grateful to you, dear uncle,' she said softly.

She thought over George's letter while she walked the four miles to Carm Hall; but her resolution had sprung into being directly she had heard the colonel's self-blaming answer to her questions. She was indignant now on his behalf. Had the squire indeed kept back the dying lad's letter to his best friend, the relative whom he had loved more than any other living creature? If so, then the time had come for her to make a bold attempt to force a reconciliation, unless she could persuade Uncle Ross to yield for reason's, for honour's, and for pity's sake. And Uncle Jack had said, 'I would gladly give the rest of my life, if possible, in exchange for the reinstating of the old regard we, Ross and I, had for one another. I want him just as badly as ever, la.s.sie!'

Oh, supposing the wrong were proved to have been done--and of this Catherine could not have much doubt--if Uncle Ross would but ask for pardon, how gladly, generously, would not Uncle Jack give it!

'O my G.o.d, help me!' prayed the girl, as she hurried along the country road. 'Without Thy aid I can do nothing. Help me not to judge others harshly, to remember that I _can't judge_ of the strength of those temptations to which others have yielded. Let me forget myself and my own poor opinions; let me not speak angrily or foolishly; and if Thy will does not forbid it, let me see my uncles true brothers again--Uncle Ross forgiven by the man he has injured, as a prelude to being pardoned by Thee!'

CHAPTER XIV

Catherine's Appeal

When Catherine Carmichael reached Carm Hall she found that a groom was leading the squire's horse up and down the carriage drive. Her uncle appeared at the hall door, booted for riding, just as she arrived at it; but he smilingly welcomed her, and gave orders that the spirited bay should be taken back to the stable.

'I do not receive visits from you so often that I can afford to cut them short, my dear,' he replied to her promise that she would not detain him long.

'Don't take me into the drawing-room,' she pet.i.tioned. 'I have a great deal to say to you, uncle, and the library is so much more cosy. If you treat me as a stranger, my courage will fail me, and I shall not be able to find words in which to explain my reason for coming to-day.'

He smiled.

'Your wish is, of course, a command to me. I trust that nothing is troubling you? Mr. North is not ill?'

'No; the trouble does not concern Brian.'

He wheeled the largest arm-chair near to the fire for her, and stood beside her, looking down into her face.

His figure was upright, his eyes keen, but the lines in his brow were deeply cut, and his beard and hair were quite white. A fine old man, a typical squire, with an autocrat's expression.

Even while admiring her uncle, Catherine was remembering the secret wrong he had done--the dishonouring small sins of which he had been guilty. His proud air and haughty manner hid remorse and self-condemnation; surely this must be so!

'Your friend, Mrs. Arderne, is not ill either? The children cannot be unwell, or you would not have left them.'

'The troubles all concern Uncle Jack and--and you.'

There was a great fear in her heart, and her voice trembled. Oh, if this dread, this mastering weakness of will, were to continue, there would be no chance of influencing this stern, self-possessed man by her words! In that moment Catherine both despised and detested herself.

But she had sought powerful aid; she had put her case into the hands of her Heavenly Father, beseeching Him to plead her cause for her through her own lips; and the remembrance of His mercy and goodness came back to her mind just as she needed it most. With G.o.d's help, wonders and miracles might be accomplished!

At the mention of Uncle Jack the squire's frown had appeared. It was a visible effort to him to show the unvarying courtesy he deemed due to a woman when Catherine would speak of his enemy.

'Forgive me if I say that you had better have chosen a different confidant, if you wish to discuss affairs concerning my brother.'

'No other confidant would do, and I knew you would not refuse to listen to me.'

'I am powerless to refuse a lady's request, when it is in my power to grant it, when the lady is my niece, to whom I am attached, and when she proffers the request under my own roof. I can only request her to desist from making it.'

'Uncle, I have such strong motives that I cannot yield my will to yours this time!'

He smiled cynically.

'My dear Catherine, you have not exhibited any willingness ever to consider my desires rather than your own!'

A hot retort was just springing from her lips, but she restrained the wrong impulse.

'I am sorry, truly sorry, that I have not been able to please you. Had I been in your favour, my task to-day would have been so much easier.

Uncle, let me stand beside you; I can talk better when I stand, and I am tall enough to look right into your eyes! Don't be angry with me, dear!

You were never vexed with "little Catherine" in the old days. Do you recollect one great argument we had about the necessity for men, as well as women, to lead religious lives? I was only a child; it was not easy for me to bear my part in that argument. I lost my temper, and behaved very impertinently to you, I'm afraid, yet you were not angry--certainly not the least bit sarcastic! When I apologised afterwards, you told me you "liked my spirited defence of that which I believed right!"'

The squire's expression softened, and he laid his hand on that small but firm one which had stolen through his arm.

'Are you preparing to lose your temper again, Catherine?'

'No, I will try not to do so; I don't think I shall want to. Uncle Ross, you have not the least idea how unhappy this family quarrel is making your brother. He longs for your friendship, for the old affection between you. He told me, only a little while ago, that he would gladly give the remainder of his life in exchange for the reconciliation; only G.o.d does not let His creatures bargain with Him in that way. I have come here to-day to plead for Uncle Jack, not to begin by defending him. I appeal to your sense of generosity first, to your memory of the love that united you brothers in your childhood, youth, and young manhood.'

'There is an insuperable obstacle against the proposed reconciliation.'

Catherine watched his face as he spoke this quiet sentence. Yes, there was the obstacle of his false pride. He would not confess himself in the wrong; he could not endure the thought of humbling himself. The harsh tone of voice, the fixed tension of the brows, the weary, cynical smile--all these betokened the squire's sacrifice to his idol, Self.

That he still cared for his brother Catherine felt certain. A warm regard, the growth of years and years of intimacy, does not melt away in a short time, nor can it be entirely obliterated by any quarrel. The seeds of affection were springing ever fresh in a heart which would not let love blossom and bear fruit.

There was sadness in the words 'an insuperable obstacle.'

'You wish that obstacle did not exist?'

For a few minutes Ross Carmichael hesitated. He was reading his own mind. Did he not regret that unworthy attempt to secretly bribe Loring to reject Uncle Jack's influence? Did he not repent of the impulsive hiding away of that last letter of Loring's--the deception of an instant which had obliged him to practise deceit ever since?

'Yes, Catherine, I regret the obstacle.'

'And is it not in your power to overcome it?'

Yes, it was, in two ways. Either the squire could confess the injury he had done his brother, or he might make overtures of friendship without ever owning the secret wrong. The first method was too distasteful to his false pride; the second was impossible to a man whose honour had been twice denied, but had never succ.u.mbed beneath the treatment.

Call Jack brother, welcome him home, press his hand, live in his company day after day, and all the while deceive him? No; the squire's nature rebelled fiercely against this idea.

'You will find me a--tolerably patient listener, my dear; but I refuse to be "heckled,"' was his answer.

'Forgive me, uncle! I am so much in earnest that maybe I am imprudent!

You know that I care very truly for you; that I care also for Uncle Jack; and while I _know_ that he grieves for your friendship, I believe you miss his presence here more than you will own. G.o.d gave you to one another; let your warm affection be a joy to you; and now that you are estranged you both are sorry for the loss of one another. Uncle Jack tells me, "I long for Ross more than ever, now that I am growing old."'