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Only, my honored lord," said he, approaching Wallace, while he checked the emotion which would have flowed from his eyes, "when I am absent, sometimes remember that it was Edwin's love which hurried him to this disgrace."
And the thought of Russell mingled with all Russell, as he fondly imagined him now, glorified with the glory of heaven, crowned, and in white robes, and with a palm in his hand. Yes, he had walked and talked with one of the Holy Ones. Had Edwin's death, quenched his human affections, and altered his human heart?
Janet drew the dark girl towards her as the latter hovered uncertainly in the middle of the room, her face forced into the look of elaborate negligence conventionally assumed by every self-respecting person who waits to be introduced. She took Edwin's hand limply, and failed to meet his glance. Her features did not soften. Edwin was confirmed in the impression of her obdurate ugliness.
Sir Edwin's second piece of strategy is still more transparent. Mary Magdalene is represented as several ladies rolled into one, and her house is a perfect museum of relics. She is Mary Magdalene, Mary of Bethany, the woman who anointed Christ's feet, and the Mary who helped to embalm him.
She also brought into it Edwin's fate, or part of it, but not precisely in the sense commonly understood when the word `fate' is mentioned between a young man and a young woman. A youth stood at the left-hand or `fancy' counter, very nervous.
Auntie Clara encouraged her. It was as if Auntie Clara had said: "Your dear father is of course quite right, more than right, to insist on your sitting properly at table. However, do not take the correction too much to heart. I sympathise with all your difficulties." "I was only going to ask you," Clara went on, in a weaker, stammering voice, "if you knew that Edwin's left school to-day."
God not only had raised the poorhouse waif above his difficulties, but had given him in addition a good Christian companion to comfort and encourage him. A smile and a cheerful word were Edwin's greeting when he returned from the post-office. Seating himself in the large comfortable chair that had been placed by loving hands close beside the window, he began at once to examine the mail.
"Rats!" said the Sunday, with finality. In the pronunciation of this word the difference between his accent and Edwin's came out clear. The Sunday's accent was less local; there was a hint of a short "e" sound in the "a," and a briskness about the consonants, that Edwin could never have compassed. The Sunday's accent was as carelessly superior as his clothes.
Probably never was an illicit or disgraceful love-letter written to any woman for which she herself was quite blameless. Dr. Grey perused very composedly Sir Edwin's epistle to his wife, saying at the end of it, "Shall I read this aloud? There is no reason why I should not." And he read: "My dear Christian, "If you have forgotten me, I have not forgotten you.
He hearkened to the teaching of the earnest monk, with the result that before long he and his court were baptised by Paulinus, Edwin's little daughter, it is said, being the first to receive the sacred rite.
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