"I have spoken, and our worthy clergyman has spoken; for, strange enough, Goldie sent for him. But it seems as if religion rather added to her pain; for when she hears of the mercy and goodness of God, she sobs out, 'Why did my poor boy never know Him!'" "And Goldie," said Viner, "how does he bear up?" "He looks much as usual, perhaps a little thinner; but he does not give way like his wife. I think that his heart is hardened by selfishness; and yet it has its warm corner too. He certainly has done a great deal for his children, has given them all that he could, except the best thing of all!" "I am sure that he must feel this blow," said Nelly. "He neither speaks about Ned, nor will hear others speak; he cannot bear his wife's grief, so keeps out of her way; he scarcely sees her from morning till night—she'll not trouble him long, poor thing!" "I had trusted that affliction would have drawn him near to God," said Viner. Mrs. Winter shook her head. "People may talk about great changes," she said, "but depend upon it, when a man has gone on for sixty years thinking of nothing but getting on in the world, it's as easy to raise the dead as to make him turn to religion! We know that there have been miracles, but we do not dare to expect them; and it would have been a miracle indeed had that man's heart been raised from the world! I fancy that Goldie has more trouble in his family before him, at least if it is true what is said about Mat. After the way in which he has brought up his sons, he must expect to reap as he has sowed." Viner never encouraged gossip, therefore asked his neighbour no question that might lead her to continue the subject. She turned suddenly towards Walter and said, "I'm forgetting the thing that I came for—I bring you a message from Goldie. I think that he feels grateful—at least as grateful as such a man can feel—for your attempt to save his poor boy. He wishes you to stop over and see him; I hope that he is going to do something good for you, Walter." The shutters of Goldie's shop, which had been put up before the funeral, had been again taken down, and except that one bright young face was seen there no more, the place looked much as usual. Walter found Goldie in the back parlour—his poor wife had never left her bed. Of how much comfort and ease that parlour told, with its nice furniture, carpet, little mirror above the mantelpiece, and framed portraits of the three sons hung on the wall! Yet to Walter's eye there was something deeply sad in the place, where comfort might be, but happiness was not. Goldie received the youth kindly. Whatever remembrances the sight of Walter must have brought to the mind of the bereaved father, he showed little emotion on meeting, his voice might be somewhat tremulous, that was all—there were no tears nor signs of deep sorrow.