He was about to speak again, when a loud, rough noise broke in upon the
quiet of the house. It was nearly midnight; and Ann Holland's drunken
brother was stumbling and staggering through his shop into the peaceful
little kitchen, Sophy sat up and listened. They could hear his thick,
coarse voice shouting out snatches of vulgar songs, mingled with oaths
at his sister, who was doing her utmost to persuade him to go quietly to
bed. His shambling step, dragging across the floor, seemed about to
enter the darkened room where they were sitting; and Sophy caught her
husband's arm, clinging to it with fright. It was a more bitter moment
for Mr. Chantrey than even for her. The comparison thrust upon him was
too terrible. His delicate, tender, beloved wife, and this coarse,
brutal, degraded man! Was it possible that both were bound by the chains
of the same sin?
But Ann Holland succeeded before long in getting her brother out of the
way, and releasing them from their painful imprisonment. The streets of
Upton were hushed in utter solitude and silence as they walked through
them, speechless and heavy-hearted; those streets which, on the morrow,
were to have been crowded with groups of his people, eager to welcome
him home.
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