They crowd about him, and tell him that the truth
has gone abroad, and that all the town and country ring with
sympathy for his misfortunes. He has no ears for this. His
thoughts, as yet, have no wider range than home. Does she know it?
what did she say? who told her? He can speak of nothing else.
They make him drink a little wine, and talk kindly to him for a
while, until he is more collected, and can listen, and thank them.
He is free to go. Mr Garland thinks, if he feels better, it is
time they went away. The gentlemen cluster round him, and shake
hands with him. He feels very grateful to them for the interest
they have in him, and for the kind promises they make; but the
power of speech is gone again, and he has much ado to keep his
feet, even though leaning on his master's arm.
As they come through the dismal passages, some officers of the jail
who are in waiting there, congratulate him, in their rough way, on
his release. The newsmonger is of the number, but his manner is
not quite hearty--there is something of surliness in his
compliments.
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