[ CHAPTER XL. THREE LETTERS. ]
FOXGLOVE MANOR.
CHAPTER XXVIII. A MONKISH TALE (FROM THE NOTE-BOOK).
Sunday, Sept. 19. My wife has gone to church.
I can hear the bells ringing in the distance as I write.... Now they cease, and at this very moment the clergyman, “snowy-banded, delicate-handed,” is ascending the pulpit stairs, amid the reverent hush of his congregation.
Though several times of late she has suggested that a little church-going would do me good, Ellen did not ask me to accompany her on this occasion; indeed, I thought at first that she was going to stay at home herself. At breakfast she was irritable and absent-minded, and she did not dress or order the carriage until the last moment. There was evidently a hard struggle in her mind whether she should go to church or not. Ultimately, she decided to go.