“Just for a moment I suspected you when I saw you standing by the dead body of my uncle,” said Robert, “but it was only for a moment.”
“I respect you for your fearless candor, my boy. You were justified in your momentary suspicion.”
“I am ashamed of it. You had been such a kind friend.”
“It was only natural. And now, my friends, what are your plans? How will you be able to maintain yourselves?”
“I don’t think it will make much difference,” began Robert hesitatingly.
“My husband did very little for our support,” said Mrs. Trafton. “Not more, certainly, than his own food amounted to. You know, sir, I think Robert must have told you the unfortunate habits of my poor husband. He was enslaved by drink, and he spent nearly all he earned in the barroom.”
“Yes, I knew what your husband’s habits were,” said the hermit gently. “It is a great pity he could not have lived to change them.”
“I am afraid he never would,” said the widow.
“They had grown upon him from year to year, and he seemed to get weaker and weaker in purpose.”
“I had a brother who was equally unfortunate,” said the hermit. “There are few families who are wholly free from the evils of intemperance. But have you formed any plans?”