Mr Oswald hesitated a good deal; he had not much power of expression, and though he might show his sympathy practically if it was much excited, he could not manage to speak about it. In his capacity as elder, he could administer reproof with very becoming solemnity, and overawe the scorner with the grave dignity of his office; but to encourage, to soothe, to console—these were out of Mr Oswald’s way—he was shy of adventuring upon them.
“Father,” said Hope, “when Saunders heard that Peter was dead he came to you—he wanted you to advise him and not Mossgray; and now when there is no good word about poor Peter, will you not come and see Saunders, father? for they say he will break his heart and die.”
“People do not die of broken hearts,” said Mr Oswald, hastily.
“But I think Saunders has broken his heart even if he does not die,” said Hope, with reverence, “and I think that is harder than if God had taken him away like Peter; but, father, Robbie Caryl says that he heard Saunders at his worship on Saturday night, and he minded Peter. Father, Saunders minded Peter in his prayer as if he were not dead.”
Mr Oswald shook his head.
“I am afraid there is very little chance of that, Hope.”
But Hope reiterated her prayer.
“Will you come with me to see Saunders, father?”
“Wait till the evening, Hope,” said the banker: “I will go then.”
And Hope, when the evening came, would suffer no evasion of the promise. Mr Oswald permitted himself to be led away somewhat reluctantly, for he felt the duty a very difficult and painful one.