“If your worship will hearken to me,” I answered very modestly, not wishing to speak harshly, with Lorna looking up at me; “there are many things that might be said without any kind of argument, which I would never wish to try with one of your worship’s learning.  And in the first place it seems to me that if our fathers hated one another bitterly, yet neither won the victory, only mutual discomfiture; surely that is but a reason why we should be wiser than they, and make it up in this generation by goodwill and loving”—­

“Oh, John, you wiser than your father!” mother broke upon me here; “not but what you might be as wise, when you come to be old enough.”

“Young people of the present age,” said the Counsellor severely, “have no right feeling of any sort, upon the simplest matter.  Lorna Doone, stand forth from contact with that heir of parricide; and state in your own mellifluous voice, whether you regard this slaughter as a pleasant trifle.”

“You know, without any words of mine,” she answered very softly, yet not withdrawing from my hand, “that although I have been seasoned well to every kind of outrage, among my gentle relatives, I have not yet so purely lost all sense of right and wrong as to receive what you have said, as lightly as you declared it.  You think it a happy basis for our future concord.  I do not quite think that, my uncle; neither do I quite believe that a word of it is true.  In our happy valley, nine-tenths of what is said is false; and you were always wont to argue that true and false are but a blind turned upon a pivot.  Without any failure of respect for your character, good uncle, I decline politely to believe a word of what you have told me.  And even if it were proved to me, all I can say is this, if my John will have me, I am his for ever.”

This long speech was too much for her; she had overrated her strength about it, and the sustenance of irony.  So at last she fell into my arms, which had long been waiting for her; and there she lay with no other sound, except a gurgling in her throat.

“You old villain,” cried my mother, shaking her fist at the Counsellor, while I could do nothing else but hold, and bend across, my darling, and whisper to deaf ears; “What is the good of the quality; if this is all that comes of it?  Out of the way!  You know the words that make the deadly mischief; but not the ways that heal them.  Give me that bottle, if hands you have; what is the use of Counsellors?”

I saw that dear mother was carried away; and indeed I myself was something like it; with the pale face upon my bosom, and the heaving of the heart, and the heat and cold all through me, as my darling breathed or lay.  Meanwhile the Counsellor stood back, and seemed a little sorry; although of course it was not in his power to be at all ashamed of himself.

“My sweet love, my darling child,” our mother went on to Lorna, in a way that I shall never forget, though I live to be a hundred; “pretty pet, not a word of it is true, upon that old liar’s oath; and if every word were true, poor chick, you should have our John all the more for it.  You and John were made by God and meant for one another, whatever falls between you.  Little lamb, look up and speak:  here is your own John and I; and the devil take the Counsellor.”