“All along it came natural to love folk, though now I am what I am. I think one time I could e’en have loved the masters if they’d ha’ letten me; that was in my Gospel-days, afore my child died o’ hunger. I was tore in two oftentimes, between my sorrow for poor, suffering folk, and my trying to love them as caused their sufferings (to my mind).
“At last I gave it up in despair, trying to make folks’ actions square wi’ th’ Bible; and I thought I’d no longer labour at following th’ Bible mysel’. I’ve said all this afore, maybe. But from that time I’ve dropped down, down—down.”
After that he only spoke in broken sentences.
“I did not think he’d been such an old man—oh, that he had but forgiven me!” and then came earnest, passionate, broken words of prayer.
Job Legh had gone home like one struck down with the unexpected shock. Mary and Jem together waited the approach of death; but as the final struggle drew on, and morning dawned, Jem suggested some alleviation to the gasping breath, to purchase which he left the house in search of a druggist’s shop which should be open at that early hour.
During his absence, Barton grew worse; he had fallen across the bed, and his breathing seemed almost stopped; in vain did Mary strive to raise him, her sorrow and exhaustion had rendered her too weak.
So, on hearing someone enter the house-place below, she cried out for Jem to come to her assistance.
A step, which was not Jem’s, came up the stairs.
Mr. Carson stood in the doorway. In one instant he comprehended the case.