"It is growing late, Stephen, and you need rest; we will talk over the matter to-morrow," and bidding good-night, Mrs. Montgomery arose and retired to her own apartments, while Mr. Verne sat buried in thought until the clock struck the hour of midnight; then slowly he arose, and, with languid step, turned a sad face towards the door, musing, "It is all sent for some good. Teach me, oh God, to see things as I ought."
CHAPTER XXIII.
MRS. MONTGOMERY'S IDEAS OF SOCIETY, ETC.
Next morning Mr. Verne was astir at a very early hour. The rest of the household apparently wrapped in deep slumber, while the wearied man of business sat at his desk, his features fixed and immovable as the bronze productions of the inimitable Lysippus who had won the favor of the Great Alexander.
Scratch! scratch! scratch! went the pen over the lines with inconceivable rapidity, the writer occasionally glancing over his left arm at the document he was copying. The tortoise-shell cat sat at her master's feet with an air of self-importance and a look which seemed to say, "woe be to him who dare to drive me hence."
But there was another within the walls of Sunnybank who was also awake—Mrs. Montgomery.
She leaned on the side of her couch and listened to the faint sound that at intervals came from the office: "Well, well; what will be the end God alone knows! Matilda Verne, you will one day see the fruits of your folly and taste them in all their bitterness!"
"I must divert him from such work. It is killing the man by inches; surely there is some way out of the difficulty—where there's a will there's a way.'"
Mrs. Montgomery said the last words with a will—aye, with the spirit of a Leonidas, and hastily arranging her toilet descended to the silent, deserted parlors. She evinced no surprise when confronted by Mr. Verne. She had been calmly awaiting his presence.
"It is too early for you to be astir, Hester. I would think you might take things easy when you could. I'm sure there's nothing to get you up here—no milking and farm work as at 'Gladswood.'"