“Nay, I will not lay that name on aught the Lord doth. But she suffers sorely, poor darling! Wilt come round our way and look in on her, Alice?”
“I would I might, Roger!” said Alice, with a rather distressed look. “But this morrow—”
“Thou hast not good conveniency thereto.” Roger finished the sentence for her. “Then let be till thine occasion serveth. Only, when it so doth, bethink thee that a look on Aunt Alice is a rare comfort to the little maid.”
“Be thou sure I shall not forget it. Tom came in last night, Roger. He and Tabitha and the childre, said he, fare well.”
“That’s a good hearing. And Edward hath his health?”
“Oh ay, Edward doth rarely well.”
Mr Benden was not apt to lose his health, which partly accounted for the very slight sympathy he was wont to show with those who were. It was noticeable that while other people were spoken of by affectionate diminutives both from Alice and her brother, Edward and Tabitha received their names in full.
“Well, then, Alice, I shall look for thee—when thou shalt be able to come. The Lord have thee in His keeping!”
“The Lord be with thee, dear Roger!”
And Roger Hall turned down a side street, while Alice went on toward Staplehurst. They were deeply attached to each other, this brother and sister, and all the more as they found little sympathy outside their mutual affection. Roger was quite aware of Alice’s home troubles, and she of his. They could see but little of each other, for while Mr Benden had not absolutely forbidden his brother-in-law to enter his house, it was a familiar fact to all parties that his sufficiently sharp temper was not softened by a visit from Roger Hall, and Alice’s sufferings from the temper in question were generally enough to prevent her from trying it further. It was not only sharp, but also uncertain. What pleased him to-day—and few things did please him—was by no means sure to please him to-morrow. Alice trod on a perpetual volcano, which was given to opening and engulfing her just at the moment when she least expected it.