She said, rather shrewdly, for one who knew nothing of such things: 'But a business which produces debts so enormous, Mrs.Harrington!' The widow replied: 'My son will have to conduct it in a different way.
It would be a very good business, conducted properly, my lady.' 'But if he has no taste for it, Mrs.Harrington?
If he is altogether superior to it ?' For the first time during the interview, the widow's inflexible countenance was mildly moved, though not to any mild expression.
'My son will have not to consult his tastes,' she observed: and seeing the lady, after a short silence, quit her seat, she rose likewise, and touched the fingers of the hand held forth to her, bowing.
'You will pardon the interest I take in your son,' said Lady Racial.

'I hope, indeed, that his relatives and friends will procure him the means of satisfying the demands made upon him.' 'He would still have to pay them, my lady,' was the widow's answer.
'Poor young man! indeed I pity him!' sighed her visitor.

'You have hitherto used no efforts to persuade him to take such a step,--Mrs.
Harrington ?' 'I have written to Mr.Goren, who was my husband's fellow-apprentice in London, my lady; and he is willing to instruct him in cutting, and measuring, and keeping accounts.' Certain words in this speech were obnoxious to the fine ear of Lady Racial, and she relinquished the subject.
'Your husband, Mrs.Harrington--I should so much have wished!--he did not pass away in--in pain!' 'He died very calmly, my lady.' 'It is so terrible, so disfiguring, sometimes.

One dreads to see!--one can hardly distinguish! I have known cases where death was dreadful! But a peaceful death is very beautiful! There is nothing shocking to the mind.

It suggests heaven! It seems a fulfilment of our prayers!' 'Would your ladyship like to look upon him ?' said the widow.
Lady Racial betrayed a sudden gleam at having her desire thus intuitively fathomed.
'For one moment, Mrs.Harrington! We esteemed him so much! May I ?' The widow responded by opening the door, and leading her into the chamber where the dead man lay.
At that period, when threats of invasion had formerly stirred up the military fire of us Islanders, the great Mel, as if to show the great Napoleon what character of being a British shopkeeper really was, had, by remarkable favour, obtained a lieutenancy of militia dragoons: in the uniform of which he had revelled, and perhaps, for the only time in his life, felt that circumstances had suited him with a perfect fit.