There was a steamer telegraphed yesterday from the West Indies.
When the next vessel is announced from abroad, will it be
George's ship?
I don't know how my brothers feel to-day, but the sudden
cessation of my own literary labors has left me still in bad
spirits. I tried to occupy my mind by reading, but my attention
wandered. I went out into the garden, but it looked dreary; the
autumn flowers were few and far between--the lawn was soaked and
sodden with yesterday's rain. I wandered into Owen's room. He had
returned to his painting, but was not working, as it struck me,
with his customary assiduity and his customary sense of
enjoyment.
We had a long talk together about George and Jessie and the
future. Owen urged me to risk speaking of my son in her presence
once more, on the chance of making her betray herself on a second
occasion, and I determined to take his advice. But she was in
such high spirits when she came home to dinner on this Seventh
Day, and seemed so incapable, for the time being, of either
feeling or speaking seriously, that I thought it wiser to wait
till her variable mood altered again with the next wet day.
The number drawn this evening was Eight, being the number of the
story which it had cost Owen so much labor to write.
Pages:
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379