It would not have been easy to find a house in
London in which there reigned so delightful a spirit of harmony and
kindliness.
'I was so glad,' said Mrs. Rymer one day to her friend, the day on which
she first rose from bed, 'that my husband took you into his confidence
about our affairs. Now you know everything, and it is much better. You know
that we are very unlucky, but that no one can breathe a word against our
honour. This was the thought that held me up through my illness. In a very
short time all our debts will be paid--every farthing, and it will be
delightful to remember how we struggled, and what we endured, to keep an
honest name. Though,' she added tenderly, 'how we should have done without
_you_, I really cannot imagine. We might have sunk--gone down!'
For months Mrs. Rymer led the life of a feeble convalescent. She ought to
have had change of air, but that was out of the question, for Mr. Rymer's
business was as unremunerative as ever, and with difficulty he provided the
household with food. One gleam of light kept up the courage of the family:
the aged relative was known to be so infirm that he could only leave the
house in a bath-chair; every day there might be news even yet more
promising.
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