And his reverence turned his back on the moral butchers, and crept away to his own room. There he sank into a chair and laid his brow upon the table with his hands stretched out before him and his whole frame trembling most piteously.
Eden and Hawes are not level antagonists—one takes things to heart, the other to temper.
In this bitter hour it seemed to him impossible that he could ever counteract the pernicious Hawes.
“There is but one chance left for these poor souls. I shall try it, and it will fail. Well! let it fail! Were there a thousand more chances against me than there are I must battle to the last. Let me mature my plan;” and he fell into a sad but stern reverie.
He lay thus crushed, though not defeated, more than two hours in silence. Had Hawes seen him he would have exulted at his appearance.
“A man from the jail to speak to you, sir.”
A heavy rap at the parlor door, and Evans came in sheepishly smoothing down his hair. Mr. Eden turned his head as he lay on the sofa and motioned him to a seat.
“I couldn't sleep till I had spoken to you. I obeyed your orders, sir. We have undone your work.”
“How did the poor souls bear it?”
“Some cried, some abused us, one or two showed they were better than we are.”