But now that he sat alone in the collapse of despair after fruitless effort, bowed down, down with sorrow and wounded affection, she came to him, put her hand on his shoulder, laid her cheek lightly on his gray head and murmured words of comfort.
“You have been very, very patient with her, dear, and you were so right! She has had a terrible blow to her pride, such as even the best of women could not bear with patience. How then should she?”
“Cruel words from one’s child, my dear! Cruel words!” said the suffering father, shaking his head without lifting it.
“She was crazed by grief and shame. She did not mean what she said. She did not even know what she said—did not know it rightly, I mean! When she comes to her senses, John, she will be more sorry and ashamed of her conduct to you than she is now of her downfall, and she will be grateful for your love and Christ-like patience with her. Her present mood is hysteria—frenzy! Give her time!”
“She threatened to go on the stage or on the street!” exclaimed John, uttering the last three words with a deep groan.
“She does rave worse than any other hysterical woman I ever heard, to be sure, for, as a rule, they only threaten to ‘go mad’ or to ‘kill’; but it is all raving! there’s nothing in it! You have been very patient and forbearing with your willful and provoking girl in this time of her suffering and excitement. Continue to be so, and you will have your reward in her penitence and affection. Believe it, dear.”
“‘Blessed are the peacemakers,’” quoted John Legg. “Come and draw a chair and sit by me, Julia, my dear. Your presence alone is very calming, even when you do not speak, though your words are always good and comforting and your voice sweet and pleasant.”
Julia Legg seated herself beside her husband and took his hand in hers.
Lamia, having exhausted herself by her fury, fell down again upon the sofa and buried her face in the cushions.
And now in the silence that ensued John Legg became conscious of a growing disturbance in the drawing-room.