be my dutiful and zealous wife. How good she has been;
how much she has done; how brave and strong a heart she has; let
the happiness I have known under this roof bear witness! It will
be some help and comfort to me, when I am here alone.'
'Here alone?' said Tackleton. 'Oh! Then you do mean to take some
notice of this?'
'I mean,' returned the Carrier, 'to do her the greatest kindness,
and make her the best reparation, in my power. I can release her
from the daily pain of an unequal marriage, and the struggle to
conceal it. She shall be as free as I can render her.'
'Make HER reparation!' exclaimed Tackleton, twisting and turning
his great ears with his hands. 'There must be something wrong
here. You didn't say that, of course.'
The Carrier set his grip upon the collar of the Toy-merchant, and
shook him like a reed.
'Listen to me!' he said. 'And take care that you hear me right.
Listen to me. Do I speak plainly?'
'Very plainly indeed,' answered Tackleton.
'As if I meant it?'
'Very much as if you meant it.'
'I sat upon that hearth, last night, all night,' exclaimed the
Carrier. 'On the spot where she has often sat beside me, with her
sweet face looking into mine. I called up her whole life, day by
day. I had her dear self, in its every passage, in review before
me. And upon my soul she is innocent, if there is One to judge the
innocent and guilty!'
Staunch Cricket on the Hearth! Loyal household Fairies!
'Passion and distrust have left me!' said the Carrier; 'and nothing
but my grief remains. In an unhappy moment some old lover, better
suited to her tastes and years than I; forsaken, perhaps, for me,
against her will; returned. In an unhappy moment, taken by
surprise, and wanting time to think of what she did, she made
herself a party to his treachery, by concealing it. Last night she
saw him, in the interview we witnessed. It was wrong. But
otherwise than this she is innocent if there is truth on earth!'
'If that is your opinion'—Tackleton began.
'So, let her go!' pursued the Carrier. 'Go, with my blessing for
the many happy hours she has given me, and my forgiveness for any
pang she has caused me. Let her go, and have the peace of mind I
wish her! She'll never hate me. She'll learn to like me better,
when I'm not a drag upon her, and she wears the chain I have
riveted, more lightly. This is the day on which I took her, with
so little thought for her enjoyment, from her home. To-day she
shall return to it, and I will trouble her no more. Her father and
mother will be here to-day—we had made a little plan for keeping
it together—and they shall take her home. I can trust her, there,
or anywhere. She leaves me without blame, and she will live so I
am sure. If I should die—I may perhaps while she is still young;
I have lost some courage in a few hours—she'll find that I
remembered her, and loved her to the last! This is the end of what
you showed me. Now, it's over!'
'O no, John, not over. Do not say it's over yet! Not quite yet.
I have heard your noble words. I could not steal away, pretending
to be ignorant of what has affected me with such deep gratitude.
Do not say it's over, 'till the clock has struck again!'
She had entered shortly after Tackleton, and had remained there.
She never looked at Tackleton, but fixed her eyes upon her husband.
But she kept away from him, setting as wide a space as possible
between them; and though she spoke with most impassioned
earnestness, she went no nearer to him even then. How different in
this from her old self!
'No hand can make the clock which will strike again for me the
hours that are gone,' replied the Carrier, with a faint smile.
'But let it be so, if you will, my dear. It will strike soon.
It's of little matter what we say. I'd try to please you in a
harder case than that.'
'Well!' muttered Tackleton. 'I must be off, for when the clock
strikes again, it'll be necessary for me to be upon my way to
church. Good morning, John Peerybingle. I'm sorry to be
how much she has done; how brave and strong a heart she has; let
the happiness I have known under this roof bear witness! It will
be some help and comfort to me, when I am here alone.'
'Here alone?' said Tackleton. 'Oh! Then you do mean to take some
notice of this?'
'I mean,' returned the Carrier, 'to do her the greatest kindness,
and make her the best reparation, in my power. I can release her
from the daily pain of an unequal marriage, and the struggle to
conceal it. She shall be as free as I can render her.'
'Make HER reparation!' exclaimed Tackleton, twisting and turning
his great ears with his hands. 'There must be something wrong
here. You didn't say that, of course.'
The Carrier set his grip upon the collar of the Toy-merchant, and
shook him like a reed.
'Listen to me!' he said. 'And take care that you hear me right.
Listen to me. Do I speak plainly?'
'Very plainly indeed,' answered Tackleton.
'As if I meant it?'
'Very much as if you meant it.'
'I sat upon that hearth, last night, all night,' exclaimed the
Carrier. 'On the spot where she has often sat beside me, with her
sweet face looking into mine. I called up her whole life, day by
day. I had her dear self, in its every passage, in review before
me. And upon my soul she is innocent, if there is One to judge the
innocent and guilty!'
Staunch Cricket on the Hearth! Loyal household Fairies!
'Passion and distrust have left me!' said the Carrier; 'and nothing
but my grief remains. In an unhappy moment some old lover, better
suited to her tastes and years than I; forsaken, perhaps, for me,
against her will; returned. In an unhappy moment, taken by
surprise, and wanting time to think of what she did, she made
herself a party to his treachery, by concealing it. Last night she
saw him, in the interview we witnessed. It was wrong. But
otherwise than this she is innocent if there is truth on earth!'
'If that is your opinion'—Tackleton began.
'So, let her go!' pursued the Carrier. 'Go, with my blessing for
the many happy hours she has given me, and my forgiveness for any
pang she has caused me. Let her go, and have the peace of mind I
wish her! She'll never hate me. She'll learn to like me better,
when I'm not a drag upon her, and she wears the chain I have
riveted, more lightly. This is the day on which I took her, with
so little thought for her enjoyment, from her home. To-day she
shall return to it, and I will trouble her no more. Her father and
mother will be here to-day—we had made a little plan for keeping
it together—and they shall take her home. I can trust her, there,
or anywhere. She leaves me without blame, and she will live so I
am sure. If I should die—I may perhaps while she is still young;
I have lost some courage in a few hours—she'll find that I
remembered her, and loved her to the last! This is the end of what
you showed me. Now, it's over!'
'O no, John, not over. Do not say it's over yet! Not quite yet.
I have heard your noble words. I could not steal away, pretending
to be ignorant of what has affected me with such deep gratitude.
Do not say it's over, 'till the clock has struck again!'
She had entered shortly after Tackleton, and had remained there.
She never looked at Tackleton, but fixed her eyes upon her husband.
But she kept away from him, setting as wide a space as possible
between them; and though she spoke with most impassioned
earnestness, she went no nearer to him even then. How different in
this from her old self!
'No hand can make the clock which will strike again for me the
hours that are gone,' replied the Carrier, with a faint smile.
'But let it be so, if you will, my dear. It will strike soon.
It's of little matter what we say. I'd try to please you in a
harder case than that.'
'Well!' muttered Tackleton. 'I must be off, for when the clock
strikes again, it'll be necessary for me to be upon my way to
church. Good morning, John Peerybingle. I'm sorry to be
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