provoking. People always told him to be patient when they had no
comfort to give him, and did not know what he was suffering. He
would not have minded it so much if only he could have got it out of
his head. Somehow it would not let him call to his mother, if it was
only because very likely all he should get by so doing would be to be
again told to be patient. And then came Miss Jane's telling him his
illness might be good for him, as if she thought he deserved to be
punished. Really that was hard! Who could think he deserved this
wearing pain and helplessness, only because he had played tricks on
the butler and housekeeper, and now and then laughed at church?

'It is just like Job and his friends,' thought Alfred. 'I don't want
her to come and see me any more!'

Poor Alfred! There was a little twinge here. His conscience could
not give quite such an account as did that of Job! But he did not
like recollecting his own errors better than any of us do, and liked
much more to feel himself very hardly used, and greatly to be pitied.
Thereupon he opened his lips to call to his mother, but that old
thought about patience returned on him; he had mercy on her regular
breathing, though it made him quite envious to hear it, and he said
to himself that he would let her alone, at least till the next time
the clock struck. It would be three o'clock next time. Oh dear,
would the night never be over? How often such a round of weary
thoughts came again and again can hardly be counted; but, at any
rate, poor Alfred was exercising one act of forbearance, and that was
so much gain. At last he found, by the increasing light shewing him
the shapes of all the pictures, that he must have had a short sleep
which had made him miss the clock, and he felt a good deal injured
thereby.