“Ma wife will be left young and rich, and although I have never said it to you, ma lass, she is... beautiful.”
“Jacob, this is not seemly.” Her voice was vibrant with passion.
“Blame me not for saying this once, and if another be present, he is our friend, and I am coming to my point; the brandy again, and I'll soon be done.
“You have no brother, and I have no person of my blood to guide you, ma lass; ye might be persecuted by men 'at would bring you nowt but trouble and vexation of heart You need an honest man to be your guardian and give you advice.
“Ye may never want to marry again, for I doubt ye have had little joy these years, or again ye may, to taste some joy, and I would count it unjust to hinder you—peace, lass, till I be done; I was ever rough and plain—and some one must see that your husband be a right mon.
“So I turned it over in ma mind, and I sought for a friend 'at was sound o' heart and faithful. This speaking is hard on me, but it 'ill soon be done.” And as Mrs. Arkwright stooped to give him brandy once more, Egerton saw that her cheeks were burning.
“An older mon might have been better, but ye're old for your years, Pastor, and have parted wi' the foolishness o' youth. You have some notions I don't hold with, for I'm the owd sort—believe and be saved, believe not and be damned—but ye're no a mon to say yea and do nay. Naa, naa, I have seen more than I said; and though some 'at came to the house had the true doctrine, they were shoddy stuff.
“George Egerton, as I have done good to you and not ill these years, will ye count Laura Arkwright as your sister, and do to her a brother's part, as ye will answer to God at the laast day?”
The wind lifted the blind and rustled in the curtains; the dying man breathed heavily, and waited for an answer. Egerton looked across the bed, but Mrs. Arkwright had withdrawn behind the curtain. Arkwright's eyes met the minister's with an earnest, searching glance.
“I will be as a brother to your wife while I live.”