“I am thankful for the prayers of good men,” said Mrs. Woodford; “but for truth’s sake I must tell you that this was not foremost in my mind when I begged for this favour.”

He was evidently disappointed, for he was producing from his pocket the little stout black-bound Bible, which, by a dent in one of the lids, bore witness of having been with him in his campaigns; and perhaps half-diplomatically, as well as with a yearning for oneness of spirit, she gratified him by requesting him to read and pray.

With all his rigidity he was too truly pious a man for his ministrations to contain anything in which, Churchwoman as she was, she could not join with all her heart, and feel comforting; but ere he was about to rise from his knees she said, “One prayer for your son, sir.”

A few fervent words were spoken on behalf of the wandering sheep, while tears glistened in the old man’s eyes, and fell fast from those of the lady, and then he said, “Ah, madam! have I not wrestled in prayer for my poor boy?”

“I am sure you have, sir.  I know you have a deep fatherly love for him, and therefore I sent to speak to you as a dying woman.”

“And I will gladly hear you, for you have always been good to him, and, as I confess, have done him more good—­if good can be called the apparent improvement in one unregenerate—­than any other.”

“Except his uncle,” said Mrs. Woodford.  “I fear it is vain to say that I think the best hope of his becoming a good and valuable man, a comfort and not a sorrow to yourself, would be to let him even now rejoin Sir Peregrine.”

“That cannot be, madam.  My brother has not kept to the understanding on which I entrusted the lad to him, but has carried him into worldly and debauched company, such as has made the sober and godly habits of his home distasteful to him, and has further taken him into Popish lands, where he has become infected with their abominations to a greater extent than I can yet fathom.”

Mrs. Woodford sighed and felt hopeless.  “I see your view of the matter, sir.  Yet may I suggest that it is hard for a young man to find wholesome occupation such as may guard him from temptation on an estate where the master is active and sufficient like yourself?”

“Protection from temptation must come from within, madam,” replied the Major; “but I so far agree with you that in due time, when he has attained his twenty-first year, I trust he will be wedded to his cousin, a virtuous and pious young maiden, and will have the management of her property, which is larger than my own.”

“But if—­if—­sir, the marriage were distasteful to him, could it be for the happiness and welfare of either?”

“The boy has been complaining to you?  Nay, madam, I blame you not.  You have ever been the boy’s best friend according to knowledge; but he ought to know that his honour and mine are engaged.  It is true that Mistress Martha is not a Court beauty, such as his eyes have unhappily learnt to admire, but I am acting verily for his true good.  ‘Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain.’”