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Bringing him a chair, the clergyman said to him, pityingly:
"Sit down, Mr. Jerrold, and try to compose yourself. You are not in
fault: no one can blame you."
"No, no, I know it; but it hurts me just the same. The disgrace! I can
never be happy again. Oh, Hannah, why did you let him tell me? I cannot
bear it, I cannot!" the wretched Burton moaned, and his father replied:
"Your sister has borne it for thirty-one years. Are you less brave than
she?"
"I don't know. Yes, I believe I am. I have more at stake than she. Our
positions are not the same. There is Geraldine, and Grey, I can never
look them in the face again, knowing what I know," Burton cried,
impetuously, and covering his face with his hands, he sobbed as strong
men never sob, save when some terrible storm, which they feel themselves
inadequate to meet, is beating pitilessly upon them.
"Oh, brother," Hannah said, in her soft, entreating voice, "this is
worse than all the rest. Don't take it so hard. It is not so bad as you
think.


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