When Stanbury accused him of severity, he would not condescend to defend himself; but he told himself then of his great mercy.

Was he not as fond of his own boy as any other father, and had he not allowed her to take the child because he had felt that a mother's love was more imperious, more craving in its nature, than the love of a father?
Had that been severe?
And had he not resolved to allow her every comfort which her unfortunate position,--the self-imposed misfortune of her position,--would allow her to enjoy?
She had come to him without a shilling; and yet, bad as her treatment of him had been, he was willing to give enough not only to support her, but her sister also, with every comfort.

Severe! No; that, at least, was an undeserved accusation.

He had been anything but severe.

Foolish he might have been, in taking a wife from a home in which she had been unable to learn the discretion of a matron; too trusting he had been, and too generous,--but certainly not severe.