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Updated: June 9, 2025
"What have you been eating?" Doctor Keltridge demanded briefly. "Eating!" Scott Brenton's voice was as blank as were his eyes. "Yes, eating," the doctor iterated. "Doubts are generally more or less digestive in their origin. Caviar would have made a total agnostic of Saint John himself, and Saint Luke would have been the first one to tell him so, and order a blue pill."
In concluding this chapter, we shall relate the following anecdote of British heroism, derived from Captain Brenton's Naval History.
Don't you appreciate the situation? Why, Mrs. Brenton's own lawyers, as you have said, think her guilty. What, then, can they learn by talking with her, or what good can they do her with their minds already prejudiced against her? Don't you see that?" Brenton made no answer to this, but it was evident he was very ill at ease. "Did you know her husband?" asked the sheriff.
Between Rose and Goat islands four ships, drawn up on a west-northwest line, bore upon the entrance and raked an approaching fleet; while three others, between Goat Island and Brenton's Point, crossed their fire at right angles with the former four. On the other hand, the summer winds blow directly up the entrance, often with great force.
And Olive recounted to her father Kathryn Brenton's catechism concerning Opdyke, her manifest and merciless curiosity, so thinly veiled behind her avowed desire to administer consolation. When she had finished, the doctor shook his wise gray head. "Some women are merely pussy cats, Olive, and some of them are panthers," he said gravely. "I am glad you told me. I'll put the Opdykes on their guard.
Her question was never ended. Instead, she laid her hand on Brenton's sleeve. "Look!" she whispered. All at once, the doze had ended. With its ending, all look of tiredness and suffering had gone away out of the baby face.
Then, sermon over and the service, he had gone away and lavished upon Reed Opdyke a purely human sympathy that was totally unlike the exalted pity of the priest. In other words, as concerned Reed Opdyke, Brenton's attitude was two-faced, human, priestly; two-faced, and the two faces were mutually antagonistic. Worst of all, the doubtings did not focus themselves upon the solitary instance.
Indeed, it had been a constant marvel to Brenton, all those summer months, how much more clearly Reed, flat on his back inside four walls, did see things than the rest of them. Reed had told a truth as undeniable as it was unpalatable: that all of Brenton's adulation came, not from his priestly fervour, but from such personal details as eyes and hair and vibrant vocal cords.
Only just the other day, I heard him laying down the law to father, claiming that his laboratory was the only open door to logic, the only training school where one can find out whether his elements can be combined safely, or whether they will explode and, what's a good deal more to the point, explode him with them." The laugh came back to Brenton's face. Once more Olive wondered at its charm.
And then, in the hush that followed after the benediction, there came into Brenton's ears the echo of Reed's voice, gay and indomitable rather by force of will than from conviction. "No," he had said to Brenton, midway in their conversation of the day before. "No; it's not a chastisement of Providence.
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