‘Oh, aunt, you do James injustice! He thought of nothing but Annie. The light of his eyes is gone, and the comfort of his house, and all he cares for in life.’ Here poor Miss Cherry, moved by her own eloquence, began to cry, picturing to herself this dismal future. Nothing at Sunninghill was changed: the room was as full of primroses as the woods were; great baskets of them mingled with blue violets filled every corner; the sunshine came in unclouded; the whole place was bright. It struck the tender-hearted woman with sudden compunction: ‘We are not touched,’ she said; ‘we have everything just the same as ever, as bright; but my poor James, in that house by himself; and the child! Oh, Aunt Charity, when I think of him, I feel as if my heart would break.’ Miss Charity took up her work and began to knit furiously. ‘He will get over it,’ she said, ‘in time. It will be dreadful work at first; but he will get over it. He has plenty of friends, both men and women. Don’t upset me with your talk; he will get over it--men always do.’ ‘And let us hope it will lead him to think more seriously,’ said Mrs. Burchell. ‘Oh, I am sure if you thought my dear husband could be of any use--we all know he has not been what we may call serious, and oh, dear Miss Beresford, would not this affliction be a cheap price to pay for it, if it brought him to a better state of mind?’ ‘His wife’s life? It would be a high price for any advantage that would come to him, I think. Dry your eyes, Cherry, and go and put on your bonnet. This is Mr. Maxwell’s day, and you had better go back to town with him.’ ‘Was it Mr. Maxwell who attended poor Mrs. James? I hope he is considered a clever man.’ ‘How oddly you good people speak! Do you want to insinuate that he is not a clever man? He takes charge of my health, you know, and he has kept me going long enough. Eh! yes, I am irritable, I suppose; we are all put out. You good quiet folks, with all your children about, nothing happening to you----’ ‘Indeed, Miss Beresford, you do us great injustice,’ said Mrs. Burchell, stung, as was natural, by such an assertion, while the Rector slowly shook his head. ‘We do not complain; but perhaps if we were to tell all, as some people do. Nothing happening to us!--ah, how little you know!’ ‘Well, well, let us say you have a great many troubles; you can feel then for other people. Ah, here is Mr. Maxwell. Don’t talk of me now; don’t think of me, my good man. I am as well--as well--a great deal better than a poor useless woman of nearly threescore and ten has any right to be when the young are taken. How is James?’ The doctor, who had come in by the open window with a familiarity which made the Rector and his wife look at each other, sat down by the old lady’s side and began to talk to her. Miss Cherry had gone to put on her bonnet, and by-and-by Mr. and Mrs. Burchell rose to take their leave.