What she had suffered during those early years when, as a
little ugly girl, she had watched her brother, accepted, received
into the Brotherhood, praised for his wisdom, his intimacy with God,
his marvellous saintly promise, praised for these things when she
had known all his weaknesses, how he had slipped away to a music-
hall when he was only fourteen and smoked and drank there, how he
had laughed at Mr. Thurston's dropping of his "h's" or at Miss
Avies' prayer meetings! No one ever knew what in those years she had
thought of her brother. Then, after Martin had flung it all away and
escaped abroad, she had begun, slowly, painfully, but with dogged
persistence, to make herself indispensable to her father; Martin she
had put out of her mind. He would never return, or, at least, the
interval of his departure should have been severe enough to separate
him for ever from his father . . .
In a moment's glance, in a clasp of the hand, in a flash of the eye,
she had seen that love leap up in her father's heart as strong as
ever it had been. Every day of Martin's residence in the house had
added fire to that love.
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