"Oh, weren't you glad, Mr. Betts, when his burden fell off? Have you lost your burden, Mr. Betts?"
Well, if he had not known then, he knew now that he had a burden to carry. With the thought he gave such a groan, that the nurse came in haste to see what was the matter with him.
"Can't you rest comfortably?" she asked.
"No, I can't," he answered; "I'm very uneasy—very uneasy indeed."
The next day Michael was permitted to sit up for a little while. He scarcely appreciated the privilege, for when he moved from the bed, he realized how very, very weak he was, and felt so good-for-nothing that he was thankful when he was allowed to lie down again. But the following day he felt stronger, and was able to sit up a little longer, and he continued to make progress till the day came when he was able to go downstairs.
One day, Michael asked his nurse to go downstairs and fetch him a Bible. She would have no difficulty in finding one in the shop, he said, if she looked on a certain shelf to which he directed her. And then Michael sighed as he thought of the shop. What would become of his business with the shop shut up for so long? His rival in the Tottenham Court Road was probably flourishing at his expense, and drawing away some of his best customers. What a thing it was to be all alone, with no one to depend on in time of need!
When his nurse brought him the Bible, Michael opened it and sat for some time studying its pages. It was years since he had read the Bible, and though he professed to "know all about it," the old, almost forgotten words impressed him now with strange freshness and vividness. But though he read passage after passage, what he read gave him little comfort. The Book seemed to speak only to condemn him. "He that loveth not his brother whom he has seen: how can he love God whom he hath not seen?" Here were words that set him thinking.
Michael knew that he did not love his poor outcast brother. No, he had wished him dead. Nor did he love God. No, his heart was so cold and dead he hardly knew what love meant.
Michael never forgot the evening when he first came downstairs, and had his tea served to him in the little back sitting-room. It was a dreary return to his old surroundings. There was no one to give him a welcome except Mrs. Wiggins, and her greeting was of a lugubrious character. According to her code of propriety, it was the correct thing to express sympathy by assuring him that he looked "awful bad yet," and that it would be long ere he lost the effects of his illness, and indeed he could never hope to be the man he was, with other such cheering truths.
His nurse had done her best to give to the dingy old room a cheerful appearance. There was a bright fire in the grate, the table was set quite daintily, and hot buttered toast, a poached egg and fresh watercress were there to tempt his appetite. But Michael had never felt so depressed in his life as when he looked round on his old familiar haunt. On the morrow his nurse was to leave, and he would be thrown entirely on himself again. The prospect filled him with despair. The old, lonely, loveless life looked hateful to him now.