If Mary died, he would announce it personally; if she
recovered, he meant to bring her home with him. Writing was to him
little more than an auxiliary to natural history; a way of ticketing
specimens, not of expressing thoughts.
The consequence of this want of intelligence as to Mary's state was,
that Jem was constantly anticipating that every person and every
scrap of paper was to convey to him the news of her death. He could
not endure this state long; but he resolved not to disturb the house
by announcing to his mother his purposed intention of returning to
Liverpool, until the dead had been buried forth.
On Sunday afternoon they laid her low with many tears. Will wept as
one who would not be comforted.
The old childish feeling came over him, the feeling of loneliness at
being left among strangers.
By-and-by, Margaret timidly stole near him, as if waiting to
console; and soon his passion sank down to grief, and grief gave way
to melancholy, and though he felt as if he never could be joyful
again, he was all the while unconsciously approaching nearer to the
full happiness of calling Margaret his own, and a golden thread was
interwoven even now with the darkness of his sorrow.
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