"
Some of Mr. Fletcher's attempts were comical, and some pathetic, for
though the sacred circle of her wedding-ring was an effectual
barrier against a look or word of love, Christie knew that the old
affection was not dead, and it showed itself in his desire to win
her respect by all sorts of small sacrifices and efforts at
self-control. He would not use many of the comforts sent him, but
insisted on wearing an army dressing-gown, and slippers that cost
him a secret pang every time his eye was affronted by their
ugliness. Always after an angry scene with his servant, he would be
found going round among the men bestowing little luxuries and kind
words; not condescendingly, but humbly, as if it was an atonement
for his own shortcomings, and a tribute due to the brave fellows who
bore their pains with a fortitude he could not imitate.
"Poor Philip, he tries so hard I must pity, not despise him; for he
was never taught the manly virtues that make David what he is,"
thought Christie, as she went to him one day with an unusually happy
heart.
She found him sitting with a newly opened package before him, and a
gloomy look upon his face.
"See what rubbish one of my men has sent me, thinking I might value
it," he said, pointing to a broken sword-hilt and offering her a
badly written letter.
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