Her husband was in bed, and asleep long ago.
But Job had not yet made up his mind what to do. He could not go to
sleep, with all his anxieties, if he were put into the best bed in
Liverpool.
"Thou'lt let me sit up in this arm-chair," said he at length to the
woman, who stood, expecting his departure.
He was an old friend, so she let him do as he wished. But, indeed,
she was too sleepy to have opposed him. She was too glad to be
released and go to bed.
XXXI. HOW MARY PASSED THE NIGHT.
"To think
That all this long interminable night,
Which I have passed in thinking on two words--
'Guilty'--'Not Guilty!'--like one happy moment
O'er many a head hath flown unheeded by;
O'er happy sleepers dreaming in their bliss
Of bright to-morrows--or far happier still,
With deep breath buried in forgetfulness.
O all the dismallest images of death
Did swim before my eyes!"
--WILSON.
And now, where was Mary?
How Job's heart would have been relieved of one of its cares if he
could have seen her: for he was in a miserable state of anxiety
about her; and many and many a time through that long night he
scolded her and himself; her for her obstinacy, and himself for his
weakness in yielding to her obstinacy, when she insisted on being
the one to follow and find out Will.
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