Joan gently forced him back into his chair; she untied his many neckcloths; she bared his broad, hairy chest; she brought him water to drink; and at length her tears and entreaties melted the stone-like 149 rigour; his head fell forward, his eyes closed, his hand unclasped, and the letter fell to the floor. It did not interest Joan; nothing on earth was of interest to her while her husband was in that horror of stubborn suffering.
“John,” she whispered, with her face against his face––“John! My John! My good heart, be yourself and tell Joan what is the matter. Is it sickness of your body, John? Is it trouble of your mind, John? Be a man, and speak to God and to me. God is our refuge and our strength––think o’ that. A very present help in trouble––present, not a long way off, John, not in heaven; but here in your heart and on your hearth. Oh, John! John! do speak to me.”
“To be sure, Joan! The letter, dear; read it––read it aloud––I may be mistaken––it isn’t possible, I’m sure. God help us both!”
Joan lifted the letter and read aloud the words written so hastily in a few moments of time, but which brought to two loving hearts years of anxious sorrow:
“‘Dear Father and Mother:––I have just been married to Roland Tresham, and we are on our way to London. I love Roland so much, I hope you will forgive me. I will write more from London. Your loving child,
“‘Denas Tresham.’”
“Oh, Joan, my dear! My heart be broken! My heart be broken! My heart be broken!”
“Now, John, don’t you be saying such wisht dismal, ugly words. A heart like yours is hard to break. Not even a bad daughter can do it. Oh, my dear, don’t you talk like that there! Don’t, John.”
“’Tis the Lord’s will, Joan––I do know that.”
“It be nothing of the kind, John. It be the devil’s will when a child do wrong such love as yours and mine. And there, now! Will you break your brave old heart, that has faced death a hundred times, for the devil? No, ’tis not like to be, I’m sure. Look at the worst of it. Denas does say she be married. She does write her name with his name. What then? Many a poor father and mother have drunk the cup we be drinking––nothing strange have come to us.”