But when brave words passed into kind deeds, Gregson's heart mutely acknowledged its master and keeper.

And the beauty of it all was, that Mr.Gray knew nothing of the good work he had done, or recognized himself as the instrument which God had employed.

He thanked God, it is true, fervently and often, that the work was done; and loved the wild man for his rough gratitude; but it never occurred to the poor young clergyman, lying on his sick-bed, and praying, as Miss Galindo had told us he did, to be forgiven for his unprofitable life, to think of Gregson's reclaimed soul as anything with which he had had to do.

It was now more than three months since Mr.Gray had been at Hanbury Court.

During all that time he had been confined to his house, if not to his sick-bed, and he and my lady had never met since their last discussion and difference about Farmer Hale's barn.
This was not my dear lady's fault; no one could have been more attentive in every way to the slightest possible want of either of the invalids, especially of Mr.Gray.