So long as that bent, white form sat beside her fire, Margaret was happy.

Her heart sank with every fresh sign of age and weakness, revived with every brighter hour.
He still lorded it over her often, as he had done in the days of their prosperity, and whenever this old mood came back upon him, Margaret could have cried for pleasure.
The natural correlative of such devotion was a drying up of interest in all the world beside.

Margaret had the selfishness of the angelic woman--everything was judged as it affected her idol.
So at first she took no individual interest in David--he cheered up 'Lias--she had no other thought about him.
On a certain November day David was sitting opposite to 'Lias.

The fire burnt between them, and on the fire was a griddle, whereon Margaret had just deposited some oatcakes for tea.

The old man was sitting drooped in his chair, his chin on his breast, his black eyes staring beyond David at the wall.