Chantrey would have strength of
mind enough to cast off the sin at once. Now was the time to break it to
him gently, with quiet and friendly hints rather than with hard words.
But how was she to do it? How could she best soften the sorrow and
disgrace?
"Is my wife ill yet?" he demanded again, in a more agitated voice.
"Not ill now," she answered, "but she's not quite herself yet. You'll
help her, sir. You'll know how to treat her kindly and softly, and bring
her round again. There's a deal in being mild and patient with folks.
You know my poor brother, as fierce as a tiger, and that obstinate,
tortures would not move him; but he's like a lamb with you, Mr.
Chantrey. I think sometimes if he could live in the same house with you,
if he'd been your brother, poor fellow you'd save him; for he'll do
anything for you, short of keeping away from drink. You'll bring Mrs.
Chantrey round, I'm sure."
Mr. Chantrey smiled again, as the comparison between the drunken old
saddler and his own fair, sweet young wife, flitted across his brain.
Ann Holland, in her voluble flow of words, hit upon curious
combinations.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72