But it is not
that altogether. No, if a sick woman called me to her bedside this
week, I'd go, whether she wrote from Huntercombe Hall or the poorest
house in the place; else how could I hope my Saviour would come to _my_
bedside at my last hour?"
This honest burst, from a meek lady who never talked nonsense, to be
sure, but seldom went into eloquence, staggered Richard Bassett, and
enraptured Ruperta so, that she flung both arms round her mother's
neck, and cried, "Oh, mamma! I always thought you were the best woman
in England, and now I know it."
"Well, well, well," said Richard, kindly enough; then to Ruperta, "Did
I ever say she was not the best woman in England? So you need not set
up your throats neck and neck at me, like two geese at a fox.
Unfortunately, she is the simplest woman in England, as well as the
best, and she is going to visit the cunningest. That Lady Bassett will
turn our mother inside out in no time. I wish you would go with her;
you are a shrewd girl."
"My daughter will not go till she is asked," said Mrs. Bassett, firmly.
"In that case," said Richard, dryly, "let us hope the Lord will protect
you, since it is for love of Him you go into a she-fox's den."
No reply was vouchsafed to this aspiration, the words being the words
of faith, but the voice the voice of skepticism.
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