“He would be a good big husband anyhow, and a strong—one to defend you from your enemies, and not talk to you when you wanted to be quiet.”
“That is all true; but one might get weary of a stupid husband, however big and strong he was.”
“There’s another thing, though!—he wouldn’t be a cruel husband! I’ve heard papa often speak about some cruel husband! I fancied sometimes he meant himself; but that could not be, you know.”
Arctura made no reply. All but vanished memories of things she had heard, hints and signs here and there that all was not right between her uncle and aunt, vaguely returned: could it be that he now repented of harshness to his wife, that the thought of it was preying upon him, that it drove him to his drugs for forgetfulness?—But in the presence of the boy she could not go on thinking in such a direction about his father. She felt relieved by the return of Donal.
He had found it rather difficult to get the ladder round the sharp curves of the stair; but at last they saw him with it on his shoulder coming over a distant roof.
“Now we shall see!” he said, as he leaned it up against the chimney, and stood panting.
“You have tired yourself!” said lady Arctura.
“Where’s the harm, my lady? A man must get tired a few times before he lies down!” rejoined Donald lightly.
Said Davie,
“Must a woman, Mr. Grant, marry a man she does not love?”