I had
settled things with father and mother. I meant to take her away from
the mortification she was suffering here. We should have had a little
lodging in London, and lived together like sisters. She had a good
education, sir, as you know, and she wrote a good hand. She was quick at
her needle. I have a good education, and I write a good hand. I am not
as quick at my needle as she was--but I could have done. We might have
got our living nicely. And, oh! what happens this morning? what happens
this morning? Her letter comes and tells me that she has done with the
burden of her life. Her letter comes, and bids me good-bye for ever.
Where is he?" cries the girl, lifting her head from the crutch, and
flaming out again through her tears. "Where's this gentleman that I
mustn't speak of, except with respect? Ha, Mr. Betteredge, the day is
not far off when the poor will rise against the rich. I pray Heaven they
may begin with HIM. I pray Heaven they may begin with HIM."
Here was another of your average good Christians, and here was the usual
break-down, consequent on that same average Christianity being pushed
too far! The parson himself (though I own this is saying a great deal)
could hardly have lectured the girl in the state she was in now.
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