He turned moodily away to the woods, and Perseverance went her way, momentarily softened, but only to resume her hard and vindictive thoughts, and become one in that aggregate of falsehood and malignity which goes to make up human society.
That night, when the village was buried in sleep, John Bonyton might have been seen for hours, kneeling upon his mother’s grave—he, the strong man, weeping like a child upon its mother’s breast.
Not till the morning was dawning did he turn away, murmuring, “Mother, mother,” as if the repetition of the word brought some ease to his heart.
As he turned away from the grave in the early light, he was surprised to see Ephraim Higgins standing beside him.
“I just come, John, to speak to you. I al’ays liked you, John.”
“I am sure of it. You’ve a true, honest heart, Ephe.”
“I’m glad you think so, John. I al’ays liked you—you know I did.”
“Then you would not take my life, even to please the Governor?” This with a smile.
“No, indeed, John. I wish I could do something for you. I wish you’d come home, and live like a Christian, John—I wish you would.”
And poor, honest Ephraim grasped his hand warmly as he went on: