Buxton would have given of the manner in which the idea of his wife
became present to him, and what she would have wished him to do a powerful
motive in his conduct. Words of hers, long ago spoken, and merciful,
forgiving expressions made use of in former days to soften him in some
angry mood, were clearly remembered while Maggie spoke; and their influence
was perceptible in the change of his tone, and the wavering of his manner
henceforward.
"And yet you will not save Frank from being involved in your disgrace,"
said he; but more as if weighing and deliberating on the case than he had
ever spoken before.
"If Frank wishes it, I will quietly withdraw myself out of his sight
forever;--I give you my promise, before God, to do so. I shall not utter
one word of entreaty or complaint. I will try not to wonder or feel
surprise;--I will bless him in every action of his future life--but think
how different would be the disgrace he would voluntarily incur to my poor
mother's shame, when she wakens up to know what her child has done! Her
very torper about it now is more painful than words can tell."
"What could Edward do?" asked Mr. Buxton. "Mr. Henry won't hear of my
passing over any frauds."
"Oh, you relent!" said Maggie, taking his hand, and pressing it. "What
could he do? He could do the same, whatever it was, as you thought of his
doing, if I had written that terrible letter.
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