He gazed curiously at the heavy, carved bureau of dark wood, at the grotesque little table, covered with vials and cups, at the cabinet filled with specimens of foreign skill and art, at the Venetian carpet and at last, his eyes remained fixed upon a black crucifix, placed in the centre of the mantle. He uttered a deep sigh.
Mr. Norton, convinced that he had fully collected his scattered thoughts and become aware of the realities of his situation, stepped gently forward from his station behind the bed and taking Mr. Brown's hand, said, in a cheerful tone, "How do you find yourself, my dear sir?"
After a momentary surprise, Mr. Brown replied—
"Better, I think, sir, better".
"Yes sir. You are better. I thank God for it. And also for this hospitable roof and the kind care these people have taken of you in your illness. The Lord's angel must have guided your steps to this house, and mine also".
"This house, sir! whose is it?"
"It belongs to Mr. Dubois".
"Ah! I recollect. I came here with him and have been ill several days. And the country is—"
"Miramichi", said Mr. Norton. "A desperate region sir. A land where the darkness may be felt".
Just then a ray of red, burning sunshine shot into the room. The good man modified his remark, exclaiming, "Morally, sir, morally".