'La,
Sophy,' says I, 'what is up now?' Says she, 'They are blessing of us.
Things is come to a pretty pass, for ignorant Muslinmen heathen to be
blessing Christian folk.' 'Well,' says I, 'it won't hurt us any.' 'I
don't know,' says she. 'I don't want the devil prayed over me.' So she
cocked that long nose of hers and followed it in a doors."
By this time they were near the house, and Phoebe was obliged to come to
her postscript, for the sake of which, believe me, she had uttered
every syllable of this varied chat. "Well, sir," said she, affecting to
proceed without any considerable change of topic, "and how do you find
yourself? Have you discovered the past?"
"I have, madam. I remember every leading incident of my life."
"And has it made you happier?" said Phoebe softly.
"No," said Christopher gravely. "Memory has brought me misery."
"I feared as much; for you have lost your fine color, and your eyes are
hollow, and lines on your poor brow that were not there before. Are you
not sorry you have discovered the past?"
"No, Mrs. Falcon. Give me the sovereign gift of reason, with all the
torture it can inflict. I thank God for returning memory, even with the
misery it brings."
Phoebe was silent a long time: then she said in a low, gentle voice,
and with the indirectness of a truly feminine nature, "I have plenty of
writing-paper in the house; and the post goes south to-morrow, such as
'tis.
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