"
"And then, dear love," said Ann Holland, in her quietest tones, "I know
you just fall down on your knees, and tell God all about it. That's how
I do when my poor brother behaves so bad, taking every penny, and
pawning or selling all he can lay hands on, to spend in drink. But you
know better than me, with all your learning, and music, and painting,
and pretty manners, let alone being a clergyman's wife; and when you are
that lonesome and sorrowful, you kneel down and tell God all about it."
"No, no," sobbed Sophy, hiding her face again in her hands; "I am so
miserable--too miserable to be good, as I used to be when David was at
home."
The almost pleasant drowsiness was over now, and a swift tide of thought
and memory swept through her brain. The gulf on whose verge she stood
seemed to open before her, and she looked down into it shudderingly. She
could recollect the temptation assailing her once before, when her baby
died; but then her husband was beside her, and his presence had saved
her, though not even he had guessed at her danger. What could save her
now, alone, with a perpetual weariness of spirit, and a feeling of
physical weakness amounting to positive pain? Yet if she went but a few
steps forward, she would sink into the gloomy depths, which for the
moment her quickened conscience could so clearly perceive.
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