‘Not in this here world, my lass; only in t’other. And even then only the wery bad ones—them as hates their neighbours, and can come to no manner o’ good without burning!’
Madeline did not answer, but she thought of Aunt Jane, who was the very essence of gentleness and good nature, but who was made utterly unregenerate by the intensity of her hate for Brother Brown.
CHAPTER IV.—UNCLE MARK PARTS WITH THE OLD BARGE.
When Madeline slipped from her bed on the Tuesday after Easter Monday, drew aside the chintz curtains from her little window and looked forth, she was astonished to see that the sunshine of the preceding days had been followed by a drizzling rain. The river looked black and very solemn as it slipped between its sedgy banks; the marshes, turning a white face to the sullen sky, looked dreary enough as they drank in the falling rain, and the red tiles on the houses of Grayfleet were redder than ever with the ceaseless washing of the showers.
She had slept heavily, but had not yet wholly recovered from the depression caused by the preaching of the past few days, and of so many hours spent in the sanctuary of the best room.
She dressed hastily, ran down stairs, and peeped into the parlour at the ‘weather cottage.’ Alas! Joan was under shelter, and Darby was outside. So it was to be a wet day indeed!
The house was very quiet. The front door stood open and a clammy breeze swept into the passage and kissed her cheeks. The parlour had been cleared out an hour before by Aunt Jane’s industrious hands, and was carefully prepared for next Sunday. But a clear fire burned in the kitchen, casting its light on the bright paven floor, and upon the buxom figure of Aunt Jane herself, who stood by the table preparing breakfast.
‘Eh, bless the child, how you did make me jump!’ she exclaimed, as Madeline put her* head in at the door.