"
"Eest'er," said the husband, turning on her a reproachful but still a
dull regard, "the hour has been, my woman, when you thought another
hand had done this wickedness."
"I did, I did the Lord gave me the feeling, as a punishment for my
sins! but his mercy was not slow in lifting the veil; I looked into
the book, Ishmael, and there I found the words of comfort."
"Have you that book at hand, woman; it may happen to advise in such a
dreary business."
Esther fumbled in her pocket, and was not long in producing the
fragment of a Bible, which had been thumbed and smoke-dried till the
print was nearly illegible. It was the only article, in the nature of
a book, that was to be found among the chattels of the squatter, and
it had been preserved by his wife, as a melancholy relic of more
prosperous, and possibly of more innocent, days. She had long been in
the habit of resorting to it, under the pressure of such circumstances
as were palpably beyond human redress, though her spirit and
resolution rarely needed support under those that admitted of
reparation through any of the ordinary means of reprisal.
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