‘Well, Miss, what of that?’ he asked again.

‘He is—­he has suffered intensely,’ I continued.  ’He has long retired from the world; he is very religious.  Ask our curate, Mr. Fairfield, if you doubt it.’

’But I am not disputing it, Miss; I’m only supposing what may happen—­an accident, we’ll call it small-pox, diphtheria, that’s going very much.  Three years and three months, you know, is a long time.  You proceed to Bartram-Haugh, thinking you have much goods laid up for many years; but your Creator, you know, may say, “Thou fool, this day is thy soul required of thee.”  You go—­and what pray is thought of your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, who walks in for the entire inheritance, and who has long been abused like a pickpocket, or worse, in his own county, I’m told?’

‘You are a religious man, Doctor Bryerly, according to your lights?’ I said.

The Swedenborgian smiled.

’Well, knowing that he is so too, and having yourself experienced the power of religion, do not you think him deserving of every confidence?  Don’t you think it well that he should have this opportunity of exhibiting both his own character and the reliance which my dear papa reposed on it, and that we should leave all consequences and contingencies in the hands of Heaven?’

‘It appears to have been the will of Heaven hitherto,’ said Doctor Bryerly—­I could not see with what expression of face, but he was looking down, and drawing little diagrams with his stick on the dark carpet, and spoke in a very low tone—­’that your uncle should suffer under this ill report.  In countervailing the appointment of Providence, we must employ our reason, with conscientious diligence, as to the means, and if we find that they are as likely to do mischief as good, we have no right to expect a special interposition to turn our experiment into an ordeal.  I think you ought to weigh it well—­I am sure there are reasons against it.  If you make up your mind that you would rather be placed under the care, say of Lady Knollys, I will endeavour all I can to effect it.’

‘That could not be done without his consent, could it?’ said I.

‘No, but I don’t despair of getting that—­on terms, of course,’ remarked he.

‘I don’t quite understand,’ I said.

’I mean, for instance, if he were allowed to keep the allowance for your maintenance—­eh?’

‘I mistake my uncle Silas very much,’ I said, ’if that allowance is any object whatever to him compared with the moral value of the position.  If he were deprived of that, I am sure he would decline the other.’

‘We might try him at all events,’ said Doctor Bryerly, on whose dark sinewy features, even in this imperfect light, I thought I detected a smile.

‘Perhaps,’ said I, ’I appear very foolish in supposing him actuated by any but sordid motives; but he is my near relation, and I can’t help it, sir.’