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Updated: June 8, 2025
Yes, it is a malignant case. I only hope it won't go round the family." "Babies are holy, and therefore immune; Brenton has too much sense. But is it a fact, Olive?" Opdyke questioned. "It evidently is a fact that you are a poor, shut-in invalid, and not brought up to date in local gossip," Olive told him tranquilly.
Three days before this time, Brenton had come in upon her, sitting beside the weazen child, her eyes on space, her lips moving in silent self-communion. Across the room, the nurse was sobbing into her handkerchief. Now and then, between her sobs, she lifted up her irate eyes to glare upon the placid face beside the little crib. Brenton had asked a question.
Suppose that what you would call the worst should happen suppose she is hanged what then?" Brenton stood simply speechless with indignation at this brutal remark. "If you will just look at things correctly," continued Ferris, imperturbably, "you will see that there is probably a moment of anguish, perhaps not even that moment, and then your wife is here with you in the land of spirits.
For Brenton realized with a disconcerting clearness that something was amiss, much, much amiss; realized, moreover, that he had known it vaguely all along. The trouble, albeit still nameless, had been there all the time, from the first day that he, smarting from the impact of the maternal slipper, had smarted yet more keenly beneath the lash of Catie's young disdain.
"The only chance the idiot woman has " Brenton interrupted. "She is my wife," he reminded the doctor. "I don't care if she is your wife, twenty times over," Doctor Keltridge said vehemently. "We both know the infernal thing that she has done." "But, if she believed it was right " Brenton was beginning faintly. The doctor bore him down.
The doctor's eyes veiled themselves abruptly, and he turned away. The nurse, watching, felt he was satisfied that no blunder had occurred within the house. Brenton, though, knew differently.
As a matter of course, with a target so unstable as a student audience, Brenton by no means hit the bull's-eye every time. That he did hit it occasionally, however, argues no mean ability, no paltry knowledge of youthful human nature. Over their Sunday dinners, the girls discussed his sermons with increasing vigour.
"Which reminds me," Olive rose; "when do you look for the conjugal rooster?" "Brenton? Sit down again; you're not in any hurry," Reed urged her. But she shook her head. "No; but I am a hen, and nobody knows when I may forget myself and begin to cluck. No. Truly, Reed, my feelings are injured and I'm going home." "What's the use? You've nothing in the world to do."
However, as the talk went on, shock had yielded to an intense pity, born of his love for his superior officer. Brenton was mistaken, wofully mistaken; but the mistake had cost him dear. All the more, he was deserving pity upon that account. The tears stood in the little curate's honest eyes, as he gripped Brenton's hand at parting.
For God's sake, then, don't let the time ever come between us when I must stop being of some little use to you, as I've just had to do in the case of Brenton." But, even while he spoke, he knew there was no need for Opdyke's prompt reply, "I fancy it never would come to that between the two of us. We've faced too many bad half-hours together. If only I could " Whittenden understood.
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