Poor Susan
Maxley was gone.
She had died of breast-pang within a minute of his leaving her; and the
last words of two faithful spouses were words of anger.
All these things, and many more less tragic, but very deplorable, came to
Alfred Hardie's knowledge, and galled and afflicted him deeply. And
several of these revelations heaped discredit high upon Richard Hardie,
till the young man, born with a keen sense of justice, and bred amongst
honourable minds, began to shudder at his own father.
Herein he was alone; Jane, with the affectionate blindness of her sex,
could throw her arms round her father's neck, and pity him for his
losses--by his own dishonesty--and pity him most when some victim of his
unprincipled conduct died or despaired. "Poor papa will feel this so
deeply," was her only comment on such occasions.
Alfred was not sorry she could take this view, and left her unmolested to
confound black with white, and wrong with right, at affection's dictates;
but his own trained understanding was not to be duped in matters of plain
morality. And so, unable to cure the wrongs he deplored, unable to put
his conscience into his pocket like Richard Hardie, or into his heart
like Jane, he wandered alone, or sat brooding and dejected: and the
attentive reader, if I am so fortunate as to possess one, will not be
surprised to learn that he was troubled, too, with dark mysterious
surmises he half dreaded, yet felt it his duty to fathom.
Pages:
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543