“Don’t give way,” I heard her whisper; “it was your good heart that spoke.”
“My good heart,” he said piteously—“no, my weak, foolish, dreaming brain. It was always so, and I have brought you down to poverty like this.”
She bent lower, and whispered a few words which seemed quite to transform him.
“Yes,” he cried, with his face flushing, “I am always ungrateful, and letting present troubles set benefits aside. Mayne, my boy, I wanted you to come and see us. I told you that we were going abroad—for my wife’s health—I might say for my own,” he added, with a smile, “for I am no use here in England.”
“And you are going, sir?” I said, glad to find that the conversation was changing.
“Yes; to join my dear wife’s brother. He has sent us an invitation. He thinks I might like the life out there, and he is sure that it will give renewed health to his sister.”
“I am very glad, sir,” I said, holding out my hands to both, “and—very sorry.”
“To lose us,” said Mr John. “Yes; now we are getting to know each other so well, it will be painful.”
“Are you going to Canada, sir?” I said, hastily, for the idea of losing almost my only friends chilled me.
“To Canada first, then on by slow degrees to the great North-West. My brother-in-law—did I not tell you?”