"She has tried," said the poor Carrier with greater emotion than he had exhibited yet; "I only now begin to know how hard she has tried, to be my dutiful and zealous wife. How good she has been; how much she has done; how brave and strong a heart she has; let the happiness I have known under this roof bear witness! It will be some help and comfort to me when I am here alone."
"Here alone?" said Tackleton. "Oh! Then you do mean to take some notice of this?"
"I mean," returned the Carrier, "to do her the greatest kindness, and make her the best reparation, in my power. I can release her from the daily pain of an unequal marriage, and the struggle to conceal it. She shall be as free as I can render her."
"Make her reparation!" exclaimed Tackleton, twisting and turning his great ears with his hands. "There must be something wrong here. You didn't say that, of course."
The Carrier set his grip upon the collar of the toy merchant, and shook him like a reed.
"Listen to me!" he said. "And take care that you hear me right. Listen to me. Do I speak plainly?"
"Very plainly indeed," answered Tackleton.
"Very much as if you meant it."
"I sat upon that hearth, last night, all night," exclaimed the Carrier. "On the spot where she has often sat beside me, with her sweet face looking into mine. I called up her whole life day by day. I had her dear self, in its every passage, in review before me. And, upon my soul, she is innocent, if there is One to judge the innocent and guilty!"