'
'It'll do well enough. I'll eat it presently; I promise you.'
John hesitated before going.
'Clara--shall you mind Amy and Annie comin' to sleep here? If
you'd rather, we'll manage it somehow else.'
'No. What does it matter? They can come when they like, only they
mustn't want me to talk to them.'
He went softly from the room, and joined the children at their tea.
His mood had grown brighter. Though in talking he kept his tone much
softened, there was a smile upon his face, and he answered freely
the questions put to him about his journey. Overcome at first by the
dark aspect of this home-coming, he now began to taste the joy of
having Clara under his roof, rescued alike from those vague dangers
of the past and from the recent peril. Impossible to separate the
sorrow he felt for her blighted life, her broken spirit, and the
solace lurking in the thought that henceforth she could not abandon
him. Never a word to reproach her for the unalterable; it should be
as though there were no gap between the old love and its renewal in
the present. For Clara used to love him, and already she had shown
that his tenderness did not appeal to her in vain; during the
journey she had once or twice pressed his hand in gratitude.
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