Sec. 12

Unhappily Mr. Parchester did not go home. He went out from the

Bishop's residence stunned and amazed, and suddenly upon his

desolation came the thought of Mrs. Munbridge....

She would understand....

He was shown up to her own little sitting-room. She had already gone

up to her room to dress, but when she heard that he had called, and

wanted very greatly to see her, she slipped on a loose, beautiful

tea-gown _neglige_ thing, and hurried to him. He tried to tell her

everything, but she only kept saying "There! there!" She was sure he

wanted a cup of tea, he looked so pale and exhausted. She rang to have

the tea equipage brought back; she put the dear saint in an arm-chair

by the fire; she put cushions about him, and ministered to him. And

when she began partially to comprehend what he had experienced, she

suddenly realized that she too had experienced it. That vision had

been a brain-wave between their two linked and sympathetic brains. And

that thought glowed in her as she brewed his tea with her own hands.

He had been weeping! How tenderly he felt all these things! He was

more sensitive than a woman. What madness to have expected

understanding from the Bishop! But that was just like his

unworldliness. He was not fit to take care of himself. A wave of

tenderness carried her away. "Here is your tea!" she said, bending

over him, and fully conscious of her fragrant warmth and sweetness,

and suddenly, she could never afterwards explain why she was so, she

was moved to kiss him on his brow....

How indescribable is the comfort of a true-hearted womanly friend! The

safety of it! The consolation!...

About half-past seven that evening Mr. Parchester returned to his own

home, and Brompton admitted him. Brompton was relieved to find his

employer looking quite restored and ordinary again. "Brompton," said

Mr. Parchester, "I will not have the usual dinner to-night. Just a

single mutton cutlet and one of those quarter-bottles of Perrier Jouet

on a tray in my study. I shall have to finish my sermon to-night."

(And he had promised Mrs. Munbridge he would preach that sermon

specially for her.)

Boon, The Mind of the Race, The Wild Asses of the Devil, and The Last Trump; Being a First Selection from the Literary Remains of George Boon, Appropriate to the Times · 第 91 / 96 题