"
"Fond of it?" repeated Mr. Warden.
"Yes," she answered, emphatically; "I leave the cellar entirely in
Brown's charge; a very trusty servant; and I find that Mrs. Chantrey has
lately been in the habit of getting a great deal too much from him. But
she will take anything she can get that will either stupefy or excite
her. She never writes to David until her spirits are raised by
stimulants of one kind or another. It is a temptation I cannot
understand. I take a proper quantity, just as when the archdeacon was
alive, and I never think of exceeding that. I need no more, and I desire
no more. But Mrs. Chantrey grows quite excited, almost violent at times.
It makes me more anxious than words can express."
There was a long pause, Mr. Warden neither lifting his head nor opening
his mouth. His pale face flushed a little, and his lips quivered. David
Chantrey was his dearest friend, and an almost intolerable sense of
shame and dread kept him silent. His wife, of whom he always spoke so
tenderly in all his letters to him! The very spot where he was listening
to this charge against her, David's vestry, seemed to deepen the shame
of it, and the unutterable sorrow, if it should be true.
Pages:
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38