Thank you, Mrs Denbigh, for coming to us to-night," said she, in
the quiet tone in which she generally spoke in her husband's absence.
When he was there, a sort of constant terror of displeasing him made
her voice sharp and nervous; the children knew that many a thing
passed over by their mother when their father was away, was sure
to be noticed by her when he was present; and noticed, too, in a
cross and querulous manner, for she was so much afraid of the blame
which on any occasion of their misbehaviour fell upon her. And yet
she looked up to her husband with a reverence and regard, and a
faithfulness of love, which his decision of character was likely to
produce on a weak and anxious mind. He was a rest and a support to
her, on whom she cast all her responsibilities; she was an obedient,
unremonstrating wife to him; no stronger affection had ever brought
her duty to him into conflict with any desire of her heart. She loved
her children dearly, though they all perplexed her very frequently.
Her son was her especial darling, because he very seldom brought her
into any scrapes with his father; he was so cautious and prudent,
and had the art of "keeping a calm sough" about any difficulty he
might be in. With all her dutiful sense of the obligation, which her
husband enforced upon her, to notice and tell him everything that was
going wrong in the household, and especially among his children, Mrs
Bradshaw, somehow, contrived to be honestly blind to a good deal that
was not praiseworthy in Master Richard.

Mr Bradshaw came in before long, bringing with him Mr Farquhar.
Jemima had been talking to Ruth with some interest before then; but,
on seeing Mr Farquhar, she bent her head down over her work, went a
little paler, and turned obstinately silent. Mr Bradshaw longed to
command her to speak; but even he had a suspicion that what she might
say, when so commanded, might be rather worse in its effect than
her gloomy silence; so he held his peace, and a discontented, angry
kind of peace it was. Mrs Bradshaw saw that something was wrong, but
could not tell what; only she became every moment more trembling, and
nervous, and irritable, and sent Mary and Elizabeth off on all sorts
of contradictory errands to the servants, and made the tea twice
as strong, and sweetened it twice as much as usual, in hopes of
pacifying her husband with good things.

Mr Farquhar had gone for the last time, or so he thought. He had
resolved (for the f