"
He was shading his eyes with his hand, and did not speak for some
time. At last he said--
"If it were not for the child, I would tell all; but the world is
so cruel. You don't know how this apparent necessity for
falsehood pains me, Faith, or you would not invent all these
details, which are so many additional lies."
"Well, well! I will restrain myself if I have to talk about Ruth
again. But Mrs. Bradshaw will tell every one who need to know.
You don't wish me to contradict it, Thurstan, surely--it was such
a pretty, probable story."
"Faith! I hope God will forgive us if we are doing wrong; and
pray, dear, don't add one unnecessary word that is not true."
Another day elapsed, and then it was Sunday: and the house seemed
filled with a deep peace. Even Sally's movements were less hasty
and abrupt. Mr. Benson seemed invested with a new dignity, which
made his bodily deformity be forgotten in his calm, grave
composure of spirit. Every trace of week-day occupation was put
away; the night before, a bright new handsome tablecloth had been
smoothed down over the table, and the jars had been freshly
filled with flowers. Sunday was a festival and a holyday in the
house. After the very early breakfast, little feet pattered into
Mr. Benson's study, for he had a class for boys--a sort of
domestic Sunday-school, only that there was more talking between
teachers and pupils, than dry, absolute lessons going on.
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