If her father was at home it was no better; indeed, it was worse.
He seldom spoke, less than ever; and often when he did speak, they
were sharp angry words, such as he had never given her formerly.
Her temper was high, too, and her answers not over mild; and once in
his passion he had even beaten her. If Sally Leadbitter or Mr.
Carson had been at hand at that moment, Mary would have been ready
to leave home for ever. She sat alone, after her father had flung
out of the house, bitterly thinking on the days that were gone;
angry with her own hastiness, and believing that her father did not
love her; striving to heap up one painful thought on another. Who
cared for her? Mr. Carson might, but in this grief that seemed no
comfort. Mother dead! Father so often angry, so lately cruel (for
it was a hard blow, and blistered and reddened Mary's soft white
skin with pain): and then her heart turned round, and she
remembered with self-reproach how provokingly she had looked and
spoken, and how much her father had to bear; and oh, what a kind and
loving parent he had been, till these days of trial.
Pages:
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248