doubtless; that was one comfort. Well, if he were awake, he
could not understand. That class of people----And Mrs. Howth
(into whose kindly brain just enough of her husband's creed had
glimmered to make her say, "that class of people," in the tone
with which Abraham would NOT have spoken of Dives over the gulf)
went tranquilly back to her knitting, wondering why Dr. Knowles
should come ten times now where he used to come once, to provoke
Samuel into these wearisome arguments. Ever since their
misfortune came on them, he had been there every night, always at
it. She should think he might be a little more considerate. Mr.
Howth surely had enough to think of, what with his--his
misfortune, and the starvation waiting for them, and poor
Margret's degradation, (she sighed here,) without bothering his
head about the theocratic principle, or the Battle of Armageddon.
She had hinted as much to Dr. Knowles one day, and he had
muttered out something about its being "the life of the dog,
Ma'am." She wondered what he meant by that! She looked over at
his bearish figure, snuff-drabbled waistcoat, and shock of black
hair. Well, poor man, he could not help it, if he were coarse,
and an Abolitionist, and a Fourierite, and----She was getting a
little muddy now, she was conscious, so turned her mind back to
the repose of her stocking. Margret took it very quietly, seeing
her father flaming so. But Margret never had any opinions to
express. She was not like the Parnells: they were noted for
their clear judgment. Mrs. Howth was a Parnell.

"The combat deepens,--on, ye brave!"

The Doctor's fat, leathery face was quite red now, and his
sentences were hurled out in a sarcastic bass, enough to wither