Therefore Mr. Twemlow, in a deep quiet voice, asked Captain Southcombe
one question only--whether he might keep any hope of ever having, by
the mercy of the Lord, his only son restored to him. And the sailor
said--yes; the mistake would be ever to abandon such a hope, for at
the moment he least expected it, his son might stand before him. He
pretended to no experience of the western coast of Africa, and niggers
he knew were a very queer lot, acting according to their own lights,
which differed according to their natures. But he was free to say, that
in such a condition he never would think of despairing, though it might
become very hard not to do so, as time went on without bringing any
news. He himself had been in sad peril more than once, and once it
appeared quite hopeless; but he thought of his wife and his children at
home, and the Lord had been pleased to deliver him.
The parson was rebuked by this brave man's faith, who made no pretence
whatever to piety; and when they said Goodbye, their eyes were bright
with the goodwill and pity of the human race, who know trouble not
inflicted as yet upon monkeys. Mr. Twemlow's heart fell when the sailor
was gone, quite as if he had lost his own mainstay; but he braced
himself up to the heavy duty of imparting sad news to his wife and
daughter, and worst of all to Faith Darling. But the latter surprised
him by the way in which she bore it; for while she made no pretence
to hide her tears, she was speaking as if they were needless.
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