delaying our own happiness.

_Jar._ I had forgot a coach, madam; and Lucy has ordered one.

_Mrs. Bev._ Where was the need of that? The news has given me wings.

_Char._ I have no joy, till my poor brother shares it with me. How
did he pass the night, Jarvis?

_Jar._ Why now, madam, I can tell you. Like a man dreaming of death
and horrors. When they led him to his cell--for 'twas a poor
apartment for my master--he flung himself upon a wretched bed, and
lay speechless till day-break. A sigh now and then, and a few tears
that followed those sighs, were all that told me he was alive.
I spoke to him, but he would not hear me; and when I persisted, he
raised his hand at me, and knit his brow so--I thought he would have
struck me.

_Mrs. Bev._ O miserable! But what said he, Jarvis? Or was he silent
all night?

_Jar._ At day-break he started from the bed, and looking wildly at
me, asked who I was. I told him, and bid him be of comfort--Begone,
old wretch, says he--I have sworn never to know comfort--My wife! my
child! my sister! I have undone them all, and will know no
comfort--Then letting go his hold, and falling upon his knees, he
imprecated curses on himself.

_Mrs. Bev._ This is too horrible!--But you did not leave him
so?