"
Rivers made no direct answer. Was it hopeless? He tried to read the
face--the too thin straight nose, white between dusky red cheeks, the
projecting lower lip, and the lip above it long, the eyes small, red, and
eagerly attentive. This was not the time for reason. He said, "I should
be your worst enemy, Peter. Every one has been good to you; over and over
the Squire has saved you from jail. Mrs. Penhallow asked me to help you.
Try to bear what your sin has brought on you, oh! do try. Pray God for
help to bear it patiently."
"I'm in hell. What's the use of praying in hell? Get me whisky and I'll
pray."
Rivers felt himself to be at the end of his resources, and that the
enfeebled mind was incapable of response to any appeal to head or heart.
"I will come again," he said. "Good-bye."
"Oh, damn everybody," muttered Peter.
Rivers went out and sent Billy up to take charge. Lamb was still sitting
up in bed when Billy returned. The simple fellow poured out in brief
sentences small bits of what he had seen at the street door.
"Oh, shut up," said Peter. "The doctor says I'll feel better if I'm
shaved--ain't been shaved these three weeks. Doctor wants you to go and
get Josiah to come and fix me up to-night. You tell him it's the doctor's
orders. Don't you be gone long.
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