Walking restlessly about his room or lost in sorrowful broodings an hour passed, and then he began to tell himself that he must not for the indulgence of even his great grief desert his lawful work.  If things went wrong at the mill, because of his absence, and gain was lost for his delay, he would be wronging many more than John Hatton.  Come what might to him personally, he was bound by his father’s, as well as his own, promise to be “diligent in business, serving the Lord.”  That was the main article of Hatton’s contract with the God they served—­the poor, the sick, the little children whom no one loved, he could not wrong them because he was in trouble with his wife.

Such thoughts came over him like a flood and he instantly rose up to answer them.  In half an hour he was at his desk, and there he lost the bitterness of his grief in his daily work. Work, the panacea for all sorrow, the oldest gospel preached to men!  And because his soul was fit for the sunshine it followed him, and the men who only met him among the looms went for the rest of the day with their heads up and a smile on their faces, so great is the strengthening quality in the mere presence of a man of God, going about his daily business in the spirit of God.

He found no wife to meet him at the end of the day.  Jane had gone to Harlow House and taken her maid and a trunk with her.  He made no remark.  What wise thing could he do but quietly bear an evil that was past cure and put a good face on it?  He did not know whether or not Jane had observed the same reticence, but he quickly reflected that no good could come from servants discussing what they knew nothing about.

However, when Jane did not return or send him any message, the following day his anxiety was so great that he called on Dr. Sewell in the evening and asked if he could tell him of his wife’s condition.

“I was sent for this morning to Harlow House,” he answered.

“Is she ill—­worse?”

“No.  She is fretting.  She ought to fret.  I gave her some soothing medicine.  I am not sure I did right.”

“O Sewell, what shall I do?”

“Go to Madame Hatton.  She is a good, wise woman.  She is not in love with her daughter-in-law, but she is as just as women ever are.  She will give you far better counsel than a mere man can offer you.”

So late as it was, John rode up to Hatton Hall.  It had begun to rain but he heeded not any physical discomfort.  Still he had a pleasant feeling when he saw the blaze of Hatton hearthfire brightening the dark shadows of the dripping trees.  And he suddenly sent his boyish “hello” before him, so it was Mrs. Hatton herself who opened the big hall door, who stood in the glow of the hall lamp to welcome him, and who between laughing and scolding sent him to his old room to change his wet clothing.

He came back to her with a smile and a dry coat, saying, “Dear mother, you keep all the same upstairs.  There isn’t pin nor paper moved since I left my room.”