Mr. Benson did not wonder that they should go; nay,
he even felt it right that they should seek that spiritual help
from another, which he, by his error, had forfeited his power to
offer; he only wished they had spoken of their intention to him
in an open and manly way. But not the less did he labour on among
those to whom God permitted him to be of use. He felt age
stealing upon him apace, although he said nothing about it, and
no one seemed to be aware of it; and he worked the more
diligently while "it was yet day." It was not the number of his
years that made him feel old, for he was only sixty, and many men
are hale and strong at that time of life; in all probability, it
was that early injury to his spine which affected the
constitution of his mind as well as his body, and predisposed
him, in the opinion of some at least, to a feminine morbidness of
conscience. He had shaken off somewhat of this since the affair
with Mr. Bradshaw; he was simpler and more dignified than he had
been for several years before, during which time he had been
anxious and uncertain in his manner, and more given to thought
than to action.
The one happy bright spot in this grey year was owing to Sally.
As she said of herself, she believed she grew more "nattered" as
she grew older; but that she was conscious of her "natteredness"
was a new thing, and a great gain to the comfort of the house,
for it made her very grateful for forbearance, and more aware of
kindness than she had ever been before.
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