There had been no
want of peace and tranquillity; there had, perhaps, been more of
them than in the preceding years, when, though unacknowledged by
any, all must have occasionally felt the oppression of the
falsehood--and a slight glancing dread must have flashed across
their most prosperous state, lest, somehow or another, the
mystery should be disclosed. But now, as the shepherd-boy in John
Bunyan sweetly sang, "He that is low need fear no fall." Still,
their peace was as the stillness of a grey autumnal day, when no
sun is to be seen above, and when a quiet film seems drawn before
both sky and earth, as if to rest the wearied eyes after the
summer's glare. Few events broke the monotony of their lives, and
those events were of a depressing kind. They consisted in Ruth's
futile endeavours to obtain some employment, however humble; in
Leonard's fluctuations of spirits and health; in Sally's
increasing deafness; in the final and unmendable wearing-out of
the parlour carpet, which there was no spare money to replace,
and so they cheerfully supplied its want by a large hearth-rug
that Ruth made out of ends of list; and, what was more a subject
of unceasing regret to Mr. Benson than all, the defection of some
of the members of his congregation, who followed Mr. Bradshaw's
lead. Their places, to be sure, were more than filled up by the
poor, who thronged to his chapel; but still it was a
disappointment to find that people about whom he had been
earnestly thinking--to whom he had laboured to do good--should
dissolve the connection without a word of farewell or
explanation.
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