It is like Davy--both Claridge, both
Claridge," he said. "But is it not like Davy? Davy is doing what it was
in Benn's heart to do. Benn showed the way; Benn called, and Davy came."
He laid both hands upon his knees and raised his eyes. "O Lord, I have
sought to do according to Thy will," he whispered. He was thinking of a
thing he had long hidden. Through many years he had no doubt, no qualm;
but, since David had gone to Egypt, some spirit of unquiet had worked in
him. He had acted against the prayer of his own wife, lying in her
grave--a quiet-faced woman, who had never crossed him, who had never
shown a note of passion in all her life, save in one thing concerning
David. Upon it, like some prophetess, she had flamed out. With the
insight which only women have where children are concerned, she had told
him that he would live to repent of what he had done. She had died soon
after, and was laid beside the deserted young mother, whose days had
budded and blossomed, and fallen like petals to the ground, while yet it
was the spring.
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