to prove his
own merits and certain other folks' deficiencies; how amiably would he
fetch and carry slippers and smelling-bottles, and write notes, and read
newspapers, and make himself every thing by turns (he devoutly hoped it
would be nothing long) to his poor dear parents, as became an only
child! It was quite affecting--and both father and mother, softened in
spite of themselves at the loss of that Maria, often would talk over the
new-found virtues of their most exemplary son. His character came out
now with five-fold lustre when contrasted with his former usual
ruggedness: no widow ever had a one sick child more tender, more
considerate, more dutiful, than rude Jack Dillaway.

He gained his end; saw the new will signed; earwigged the lawyer; and
kept a copy of it.

CHAPTER IX.

FALSE-WITNESS KILLS A MOTHER, AND WOULD WILLINGLY STARVE A SISTER.

Day by day, letters, doubtless full of happiness and Heart, were left by
the promiscuous and undiscerning postman at the house in Finsbury
square, from our excellent calumniated couple; but, seeing that there
were always two sieves waiting ready to sift it before it came to Lady
Dillaway's turn--to wit, John in the hall, and Sir Thomas in his study,
it came to pass that every letter with those malefactors' hand and seal
on it got burnt instanter, and unopened.

How many troubles might mankind be spared if they would only stop to
hear each other's explanations! How many ailments, both of body and
soul, if explanations only came more frequently and freely! Melancholy
from that dreadful doubt, and all these cold delays, viewing her
daughter as a criminal, the husband as a swindler, and all this long
course of silence as very, very heartless and seemingly conclusive of
their guilt, the poor mother sickened fast upon her couch: she had for
years always been an invalid, wan and wo-begone, living upon ether, gum,
and chicken-broth; but her white skin now grew whiter, her faint voice
fainter, the energies of life in her debilitated frame weaker than ever;
it was no mere hypochondria, or other fanciful malady: her calm heart
seemed to be dying down within her, as a plant that has earth-grubs
gnawing at its root--she grew very ill. Days, weeks of silence--her
heart was sick with hope deferred. How could Maria, with all her seeming
warmth, treat her with such utter negligence? But now the honey-moon was
coming to an end: they must call and see her some day again, surely;