His
sufferings plainly decreased.
The doctor, having little yet of a practice, was able to be with him
several hours every day, so that Donal could lie down. As he grew
better, Davie, or mistress Brookes, or lady Arctura would sit with
him. But Donal was never farther off than the next room. The earl's
madness was the worst of any, a moral madness: it could not fail to
affect the brain, but had not yet put him beyond his own control.
Repeatedly had Donal been on the verge of using force to restrain
him, but had not yet found himself absolutely compelled to do so:
fearless of him, he postponed it always to the very last, and the
last had not yet arrived.
The gentle ministrations of his niece by and by seemed to touch him.
He was growing to love her a little, He would smile when she came
into the room, and ask her how she did. Once he sat looking at her
for some time--then said,
"I hope I did not hurt you much."
"When?" she asked.
"Then," he answered.
"Oh, no; you did not hurt me--much!"
"Another time, I was very cruel to your aunt: do you think she will
forgive me!"
"Yes, I do."
"Then you have forgiven me?"
"Of course I have."
"Then of course God will forgive me too!"
"He will--if you leave off, you know, uncle."
"That's more than I can promise."
"If you try, he will help you."
"How can he? It is a second nature now!"
"He is your first nature.
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