“And how thoughtful,” said Mary, as she took his hand in hers, and held it to her cheek. “Don’t reproach yourself, Hartley; you give me pain.”
The curate bent down and kissed her, and she leaned back and closed her eyes, so that her brother should not see how they were suffused with tears.
“Patience,” she said softly; “give me patience to be unselfish, and bear my bitter lot.”
Chapter Eleven.
Jonadab Moredock Sees a Ghost.
Moredock was better by the next Saturday, and he got up with the intention of having a good long day at the church.
“Must keep friends with the doctor,” he muttered. “Can’t afford to die yet. So much to do first.”
He looked up at his clock, and the clock’s sallow round face looked down at him, pointing out how time was getting on, and kept on its monotonous chick chack, as the old pendulum swung from side to side.