As for Richard Bassett, he sat at home, bowed down and stupid with
grief.
Wheeler came one day to console him; but, at the sight of him,
refrained from idle words. He sat down by him for an hour in silence.
Then he got up and said, "Good-by."
"Thank you, old friend, for not insulting me," said Bassett, in a
broken voice.
Wheeler took his hand, and turned away his head, and so went away, with
a tear in his eye.
A fortnight after this he came again, and found Bassett in the same
attitude, but not in the same leaden stupor. On the contrary, he was in
a state of tremor; he had lost, under the late blow, the sanguine mind
that used to carry him through everything.
The doctor was upstairs, and his wife's fate trembled in the balance.
"Stay by me," said he, "for all my nerve is gone. I'm afraid I shall
lose her; for I have just begun to value her; and that is how God deals
with his creatures--the merciful God, as they call him."
Wheeler thought it rather hard God Almighty should be blamed because
Dick Bassett had taken eight years to find out his wife's merit; but he
forbore to say so. He said kindly that he would stay.
Now while they sat in trying suspense the church-bells struck up a
merry peal.
Bassett started violently and his eyes gave a strange glare.
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