“It do some. But to think of havin’ lost her for good—never again to look at her sweet face. Oh! that be dreadful!”
“Sure, it be. But think also that ye an’t the only one as ha’ to suffer. Nobody escape affliction o’ that sort, some time or the other. It’s the lot o’ all—rich folks as well as we poor ones. Look at the Captain, there! He be sufferin’ like yourself. Poor man! I pity him, too.”
“So do I, mother. An’ I ought, so well understandin’ how he feel, though he be too proud to let people see it. I seed it the day—several times noticed tears in his eyes, when we wor talkin’ about things that reminded him o’ Miss Wynn. When a soldier—a grand fightin’ soldier as he ha’ been—gies way to weepin’, the sorrow must be strong an’ deep. No doubt, he be ’most heart-broke, same’s myself.”
“But that an’t right, Jack. It isn’t intended we should always gie way to grief, no matter how dear they may a’ been as are lost to us. Besides, it be sinful.”
“Well, mother, I’ll try to think more cheerful; submittin’ to the will o’ Heaven.”
“Ah! There’s a good lad! That’s the way; an’ be assured Heaven won’t forsake, but comfort ye yet. Now, let’s not say any more about it. You an’t eating your supper!”
“I han’t no great appetite after all.”
“Never mind; ye must eat, an’ the tea’ll cheer ye. Hand me your cup, an’ let me fill it again.”
He passes the empty cup across the table, mechanically.
“It be very good tea,” she says, telling a little untruth for the sake of abstracting his thoughts. “But I’ve something else for you that’s better—before you go to bed.”