In a dark corner Mr.
Bradshaw's white head was to be seen, bowed down low in prayer.
When last he had worshipped there, the hair on that head was
iron-grey, and even in prayer he had stood erect, with an air of
conscious righteousness sufficient for all his wants, and even
some to spare with which to judge others. Now, that white and
hoary head was never uplifted; part of his unobtrusiveness might,
it is true, be attributed to the uncomfortable feeling which was
sure to attend any open withdrawal of the declaration he had once
made, never to enter the chapel in which Mr. Benson was minister
again; and as such a feeling was natural to all men, and
especially to such a one as Mr. Bradshaw, Mr. Benson
instinctively respected it, and passed out of the chapel with his
household, without ever directing his regards to the obscure
place where Mr. Bradshaw still remained immovable.
From this day Mr. Benson felt sure that the old friendly feeling
existed once more between them, although some time might elapse
before any circumstance gave the signal for a renewal of their
intercourse.
CHAPTER XXXIII
A MOTHER TO BE PROUD OF
Old people tell of certain years when typhus fever swept over the
country like a pestilence; years that bring back the remembrance
of deep sorrow--refusing to be comforted--to many a household;
and which those whose beloved passed through the fiery time
unscathed, shrink from recalling for great and tremulous was the
anxiety--miserable the constant watching for evil symptoms; and
beyond the threshold of home a dense cloud of depression hung
over society at large.
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