But, happily both for my mental suffering and my bodily endurance,
he returned sooner than many a time. I heard the house-door open. I knew
he would come to the study before going to his bedroom, and my heart gave
a bound of awe-filled eagerness. I knew also that Martha never spoke to
him when he returned from one of his late rambles, and that he would not
know I was there: long before she died Martha knew how grateful he was
for her delicate consideration. Martha Moon was not one of this world's
ladies; but there is a country where the social question is not, "Is she
a lady?" but, "How much of a woman is she?" Martha's name must, I think,
stand well up in the book of life.
My uncle, then, approached his room without knowing there was a live
kernel to the dark that filled it. I hearkened to every nearer step as he
came up the stair, along the corridor, and up the short final ascent to
the door of the study. I had crept from my place to the middle of the
room, and, without a thought of consequences, stood waiting the arrival
through the dark, of my deliverer from the dark. I did not know that many
a man who would face a battery calmly, will spring a yard aside if a
yelping cur dart at him.
My uncle opened the door, and closed it behind him. His lamp and matches
stood ready on his table: it was my part to see they were there. With a
sigh, which seemed to seek me in the darkness and find me, he came
forward through it.
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