Jim of Hellas, or In Durance Vile; The Troubling of Bethesda Pool

"Good Isick!" cried Miss Bethesda, standing up to bar his way, in real distress. "Buckstone, you can't go out in this cold in the middle of the night, and with your ankle that way. You'll ketch your death. Stop where you be, like a sensible man, and have some supper with me!"

"S'pose I do ketch my death!" said Buckstone; "aint no one to care, that I know of. Nan's gone, and there's no one else, is there, Bethesda?"

"Good Isick!" cried Miss Bethesda again, and wrung her hands in sheer desperation. Whither were they drifting?

"If I thought – " Buckstone Bradford was speaking again, slowly this time, the anger clean gone out of him, but with an earnestness that shook his deep voice, and made the brave little woman before him tremble, and her cheek flush as it had not done for many a day —

"If I thought there was anyone that cared what become of me; if I thought there was anyone that was willing to let bygones be bygones, seeing that I've cared for that person all my life, since – since first we knew there was a Tumplety Hole in that room; if I thought there was anyone who knew she could fetch out all the good there was in me, – in old "Gruff and Grum," – and that knew best of anyone how much good there was to be fetched – why – if there was any such person, I'd sit down to that table the proudest man in the wide world, and the happiest! But – but – I don't suppose there is, do you, Bethesda?"

"Oh, my gracious land of deliverance!" cried Miss Bethesda, fairly beside herself. "I – I – don't know as there is, Buckstone, and – and yet – I don't know but there is! But do, for gracious sake, sit down, whatever way it is, and eat your supper like a Christian man!"

And Buckstone sat down.