The mother's honesty was scarce complete. There was one influence she

feared for the child and still secretly combated; that was my lord's;

and half unconsciously, half in a wilful blindness, she continued to

undermine her husband with his son. As long as Archie remained silent,

she did so ruthlessly, with a single eye to heaven and the child's

salvation; but the day came when Archie spoke. It was 1801, and Archie

was seven, and beyond his years for curiosity and logic, when he brought

the case up openly. If judging were sinful and forbidden, how came papa

to be a judge? to have that sin for a trade? to bear the name of it for

a distinction?

"I can't see it," said the little Rabbi, and wagged his head.

Mrs. Weir abounded in commonplace replies.

"No, I cannae see it," reiterated Archie. "And I'll tell you what,

mamma, I don't think you and me's justifeed in staying with him."

The woman awoke to remorse, she saw herself disloyal to her man, her

sovereign and bread-winner, in whom (with what she had of worldliness)

she took a certain subdued pride. She expatiated in reply on my lord's

honour and greatness; his useful services in this world of sorrow and

wrong, and the place in which he stood, far above where babes and

innocents could hope to see or criticise. But she had builded too well

- Archie had his answers pat: Were not babes and innocents the type of

the kingdom of heaven? Were not honour and greatness the badges of the

world? And at any rate, how about the mob that had once seethed about

the carriage?

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