austere, though as certainly as he was an upright man, so surely was he
hard, stern, and inflexible. But for three years the moan and the murmur
had never been out of her heart; she had rebelled against her husband as
against a tyrant, with a hidden, sullen rebellion, which tore up the old
landmarks of wifely duty and affection, and poisoned the fountains whence
gentlest love and reverence had once been for ever springing.

But those last blessed words replaced him on his throne in her heart, and
called out penitent anguish for all the bitter estrangement of later
years. It was this which made her refuse all the entreaties of her sons,
that she would see the kind-hearted neighbours, who called on their way
from church, to sympathize and condole. No! she would stay with the dead
husband that had spoken tenderly at last, if for three years he had kept
silence; who knew but what, if she had only been more gentle and less
angrily reserved he might have relented earlier--and in time?

She sat rocking herself to and fro by the side of the bed, while the
footsteps below went in and out; she had been in sorrow too long to have
any violent burst of deep grief now; the furrows were well worn in her
cheeks, and the tears flowed quietly, if incessantly, all the day long.
But when the winter's night drew on, and the neighbours had gone away to
their homes, she stole to the window, and gazed out, long and wistfully,
over the dark grey moors. She did not hear her son's voice, as he spoke
to her from the door, nor his footstep as he drew nearer. She started
when he touched her.

"Mother! come down to us. There's no one but Will and me. Dearest
mother, we do so want you." The poor lad's voice trembled, and he began
to cry. It appeared to require an effort on Mrs. Leigh's part to tear
herself away from the window, but with a sigh she complied with his