But utterly unconscious of
the discovery toward which he was rushing, he hurried on, with a faint
pleasure at the thought of having to expostulate with his mother upon the
waste of such an unnecessary expenditure of feeling. Toward his father, he
was aware of a more active feeling of disapproval, if not indeed one of
repugnance. James Blatherwick was of such whose sluggish natures require,
for the melting of their stubbornness, and their remoulding into forms of
strength and beauty, such a concentration of the love of God that it
becomes a consuming fire.
CHAPTER XXII
The night had fallen when he reached the farm. The place was silent; its
doors were all shut; and when he opened the nearest, seldom used but for
the reception of strangers, not a soul was to be seen; no one came to meet
him, for no one had even thought of him, and certainly no one, except it
were the dead, desired his coming. He went into the parlour, and there,
from the dim chamber beyond, whose door stood open, appeared his mother.
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