In Sidney's company the worn rebel became
almost placid; his rude, fretted face fell into a singular humility
and mildness. Having ended by accepting what he would formerly have
called charity, and that from a man whom he had wronged with
obstinate perverseness, John neither committed the error of
obtruding his gratitude, nor yet suffered it to be imagined that
obligation sat upon him too lightly. He put no faith in Sidney's
assertion that some unknown benefactor was to be thanked for the new
furniture; one and the same pocket had supplied that and the money
for Mrs. Hewett's burial. Gratitude was all very well, but he could
not have rested without taking some measures towards a literal
repayment of his debt. The weekly coppers which had previously gone
for club subscriptions were now put away in a money-box; they would
be long enough in making an appreciable sum, but yet, if he himself
could never discharge the obligation, his children must take it up
after him, and this he frequently impressed upon Amy, Annie, and
Tom.
Nothing, however, could have detached John's mind so completely from
its habits of tumult, nor have fixed it so firmly upon the interests
of home, as his recovery of his daughter.
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