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.