Here was a balm in Gilead.

The love of her child was real, but the consolation was so practical to Mrs.Cawley that the lips which might have cursed, said: "Ah, sir, the wind do be fittin' the shore lamb! I' the last Judgen, I'll no speak agen 'ee.

I be sore fretted harm come to 'ee." At this Mrs.Gasgoyne rose, and in her bustling way dismissed the grateful peasant, who fondled the deed and called eagerly down the stairs to her husband as she went.
Mrs.Gasgoyne then came back, sat down, and said: "Now you needn't fret about that any longer--barbarian!" she added, shaking a finger.

"Didn't I say that you would get into trouble?
that you would set the country talking?
Here you were, in the dead of night, telling ghost stories, and raking up your sins, with no cause whatever, instead of in your bed.

You were to have lunched with us the next day--I had asked Lady Harriet to meet you, too!--and you didn't; and you have wretched patches where your hair ought to be.