We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of those sad, sad
words. At length I asked Miss Matty to tell me how her mother bore
it.

"Oh!" she said, "she was patience itself. She had never been
strong, and this weakened her terribly. My father used to sit
looking at her: far more sad than she was. He seemed as if he
could look at nothing else when she was by; and he was so humble--
so very gentle now. He would, perhaps, speak in his old way--
laying down the law, as it were--and then, in a minute or two, he
would come round and put his hand on our shoulders, and ask us in a
low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. I did not wonder at
his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever; but I could not
bear to hear him talking so to me.

"But, you see, he saw what we did not--that it was killing my
mother. Yes! killing her (put out the candle, my dear; I can talk
better in the dark), for she was but a frail woman, and ill-fitted
to stand the fright and shock she had gone through; and she would
smile at him and comfort him, not in words, but in her looks and
tones, which were always cheerful when he was there. And she would
speak of how she thought Peter stood a good chance of being admiral
very soon--he was so brave and clever; and how she thought of
seeing him in his navy uniform, and what sort of hats admirals
wore; and how much more fit he was to be a sailor than a clergyman;
and all in that way, just to make my father think she was quite
glad of what came of that unlucky morning's work, and the flogging
which was always in his mind, as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the
bitter, bitter crying she had when she was alone; and at last, as
she grew weaker, she could not keep her tears in when Deborah or me