He listened, and finding all quiet, stole, smarting and aching, slowly to his room and there tumbled into bed, longing for Amy to come to him. He was an invalid, after all, and could not go about looking for her! It was her part to find him! In a few minutes he was fast asleep once more, and forgot everything in dreams of the garret with Amy.

When Mrs. Raymount came to herself, she looked up at her husband. He stood expecting such reproaches as never yet in their married life she had given him. But she stretched out her arms to him and drew him to her. Her pity for the misery that could have led him to behave so horribly joined to her sympathy in the distressing repentance she did not doubt must have already begun.

It went deep to the man’s heart. His wife’s embrace was like balm to the stinging wound of the deep sense of degradation that had seized him—not for striking his son, who, he continued to say, entirely deserved it, but for striking a woman, whoever she might be. But it was only when, through Hester’s behaviour to her and the words that fell from her, he came to know who she was, that the iron, the beneficient spearhead of remorse, entered his soul.

Strange that the mere fact of our knowing who a person is should make such a difference in the way we think of and behave to that person! A person is a person just the same, whether one of the few of our acquaintances or not, and his claim on us for all kinds of human compassion just the same. Our knowledge of anyone is a mere accident, and should at most only make us feel it more.

But recognition of Amy showed his crime all the more heinous. It brought back to Mr. Raymount’s mind the vision of the bright girl he used to watch in her cheerful service at Burcliff, and with that vision came the conviction that not she but Corney must be primarily to blame. He had twice struck the woman his son had wronged!

He pronounced himself the most despicable and wretched of men. He had lifted his hand against a woman that had been but in her right in following his son, and had shown herself ready to die in his defence! His wife’s tenderness confirmed these feelings, and he lay down in his own room a few moments later a humbler man than he had ever been in his life.

—Forty-Six —

Father and Daughter-in-Law

Hester carried poor little Amy to her own room, laid her on her own bed, and did for her all she could. With hands tender as a mother’s, and weeping eyes, she undressed her, put her in a warm bath, then got her into bed, using every enticement to induce her to take some nourishment.

She had poor success, however, for the heart seemed to have gone out of her. She lay like one dead and seemed to care for nothing. She scarcely answered when Hester spoke, though she tried to smile. It was the most pitiful smile Hester had ever seen. Her brain was haunted with the presence of Corney’s father, who seemed ever and always standing over her and Corney with his terrible whip. The only thing she could think of was how to get her husband away from the frightful place. Hester did her best to reassure her, telling her Corney was fast asleep and little the worse, and finally, shortly after midnight, was successful in getting the exhausted girl to sleep. Then she herself lay down on the sofa beside her.