Both Helm and Father Beret tried to encourage and comfort her by
representing the probabilities in the fairest light.
"It's like hunting for a needle in a haystack, going out to find a
man in that wilderness," said Helm with optimistic cheerfulness;
"and besides Beverley is no easy dose for twenty red niggers to
take. I've seen him tried at worse odds than that, and he got out
with a whole skin, too. Don't you fret about him, Miss
Roussillon."
Little help came to her from attempts of this sort. She might
brighten up for a while, but the dark dread, and the terrible
gnawing at her heart, the sinking and despairing in her soul,
could not be cured.
What added immeasurably to her distress was the attention of
Farnsworth, whose wound troubled him but a short time. He seemed
to have had a revelation and a change of spirit since the
unfortunate rencounter and the subsequent nursing at Alice's
hands. He was grave, earnest, kindly, evidently striving to play a
gentle and honorable part. She could feel that he carried a load
of regret, that he wanted to pay a full price in good for the evil
that he had done; his sturdy English heart was righting itself
nobly, yet she but half understood him, until his actions and
words began to betray his love; and then she hated him
unreasonably. Realizing this, Farnsworth bore himself more like a
faithful dog than in the manner hitherto habitual to him.
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