Jenkin the very obvious reflections
of her husband. He had always adored this wife whom he now tended
and sought to represent in correspondence: it was now, if not
before, her turn to repay the compliment; mind enough was left her
to perceive his unwearied kindness; and as her moral qualities
seemed to survive quite unimpaired, a childish love and gratitude
were his reward. She would interrupt a conversation to cross the
room and kiss him. If she grew excited (as she did too often) it
was his habit to come behind her chair and pat her shoulder; and
then she would turn round, and clasp his hand in hers, and look
from him to her visitor with a face of pride and love; and it was
at such moments only that the light of humanity revived in her
eyes. It was hard for any stranger, it was impossible for any that
loved them, to behold these mute scenes, to recall the past, and
not to weep. But to the Captain, I think it was all happiness.
After these so long years, he had found his wife again; perhaps
kinder than ever before; perhaps now on a more equal footing;
certainly, to his eyes, still beautiful.
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