’"Not your fault, my dear—­your instinct.  We are all imitative creatures:  the great people ostracised me, and the small ones followed.  We are very like turkeys, we have so much good sense and so much generosity.  Fortune, in a freak, wounded my head, and the whole brood were upon me, pecking and gobbling, gobbling and pecking, and you among them, dear Monica.  It wasn’t your fault, only your instinct, so I quite forgive you; but no wonder the peckers wear better than the pecked.  You are robust; and I, what I am.”

’"Now, Silas, I have not come here to quarrel.  If we quarrel now, mind, we can never make it up—­we are too old, so let us forget all we can, and try to forgive something; and if we can do neither, at all events let there be truce between us while I am here.”

’"My personal wrongs I can quite forgive, and I do, Heaven knows, from my heart; but there are things which ought not to be forgiven.  My children have been ruined by it.  I may, by the mercy of Providence, be yet set right in the world, and so soon as that time comes, I will remember, and I will act; but my children—­you will see that wretched girl, my daughter—­education, society, all would come too late—­my children have been ruined by it.”

’"I have not done it; but I know what you mean,” I said.  “You menace litigation whenever you have the means; but you forget that Austin placed you under promise, when he gave you the use of this house and place, never to disturb my title to Elverston.  So there is my answer, if you mean that.”

’"I mean what I mean,” he replied, with his old smile.

’"You mean then,” said I, “that for the pleasure of vexing me with litigation, you are willing to forfeit your tenure of this house and place.”

’"Suppose I did mean precisely that, why should I forfeit anything?  My beloved brother, by his will, has given me a right to the use of Bartram-Haugh for my life, and attached no absurd condition of the kind you fancy to his gift.”

’Silas was in one of his vicious old moods, and liked to menace me.  His vindictiveness got the better of his craft; but he knows as well as I do that he never could succeed in disturbing the title of my poor dear Harry Knollys; and I was not at all alarmed by his threats; and I told him so, as coolly as I speak to you now.

’"Well, Monica,” he said, “I have weighed you in the balance, and you are not found wanting.  For a moment the old man possessed me:  the thought of my children, of past unkindness, and present affliction and disgrace, exasperated me, and I was mad.  It was but for a moment—­the galvanic spasm of a corpse.  Never was breast more dead than mine to the passions and ambitions of the world.  They are not for white locks like these, nor for a man who, for a week in every month, lies in the gate of death.  Will you shake hands? Here—­I do strike a truce; and I do forget and forgive everything.”