"Well?"
"I can't go on. But you must read it, Lucy," he said, in quite a
passion of humility. "And you must try to be merciful. That poor
boy--that--"
He handed the paper to his wife, and made no attempt to escape from
judgment, but sat submissive while she read the report of Lemuel's
trial. The story was told throughout in the poetico-jocular spirit
of the opening sentences; the reporter had felt the simple charm of
the affair, only to be ashamed of it and the more offensive about
it.
When she had finished Mrs. Sewell did not say anything. She merely
looked at her husband, who looked really sick.
At last he said, making an effort to rise from his chair, "I must go
and see him, I suppose."
"Yes, if you can find him," responded his wife, with a sigh.
"Find him?" echoed Sewell.
"Yes. Goodness knows what more trouble the wretched creature's got
into by this time. You saw that he was acquitted, didn't you?" she
demanded, in answer to her husband's stare.
"No, I didn't. I supposed he was convicted, of course."
"Well, you see it isn't so bad as it might be," she said, using a
pity which she did not perhaps altogether feel. "Eat your breakfast
now, David, and then go and try to look him up."
"Oh, I don't want any breakfast," pleaded the minister.
He offered to rise again, but she motioned him down in his chair.
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