"We may be coming to the oyster, sir, if you have patience. Crest, a
wivern proper: motto, 'God is love.' I am thinking, ma'am, a child
of yours might find some use for that motto, since children of my own
I have none."

"There could be none nobler, sir," Mrs. Wesley answered.

"'Tis his then, ma'am, if you can spare me your son Charles."

The lump of sugar dropped from old Matthew's fingers and splashed
into the tumbler, and with that there fell a silence on the room.
Samuel half rose from his couch and passed a nervous hand over his
thick black hair. His purblind eyes sought his mother's; hers were
fastened on this eccentric kinsman, but with a look that passed
beyond him. Her lips were parted.

"God is love," she repeated it, soft and low, but with a thrill at
which Garrett Wesley raised his head. "If ever I had distrusted it,
that love is manifested here to-night. There was a kinsman, sir,
from whom I hoped much for my son; to-day I learn that he is lost--
dead, most like--and those hopes with him. He was my brother, and
God--who understands mothers, and knows, moreover, how small was ever
Samuel Annesley's kindness--must forgive me that I grieved less for
him than for Charles's sake. The tale was brought us by the honest
man who has just left, and it is scarcely told when another kinsman
enters and lays his fortune in Charles's hands. Therefore I thank
God for His goodness and"--her voice wavered and she ended with a
frank laugh at her own expense--"you, on your part, may read the
quality of the gratitude to expect from me. At least I have been
honest, sir."