I tried hard. Perhaps--"
His eye was here arrested by some conflict at the door, where Aunt
Hominy, notwithstanding her imperfect wits, was striving to keep guard.
"De debbil's measurin' him in! Measurin' him in at las'!" the old woman
said; "Miss Vessy's 'mos' free!"
"Admit me!" spoke a clear, familiar voice, "I must see him. Mr. Clayton
has won the lawsuit, and two hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars
damages! Cousin Meshach is rich again."
"That friendly voice," spoke Meshach, with a happy light in his eyes;
"oh, I wanted to hear it again!"
Yet he put his hand up with all his little strength to push away the
intruder, who would have kissed him, and whispered,
"No. The cholera!"
"It's the bishop, uncle!" cried Mrs. Custis; "Bishop Tilghman, from the
West."
"Don't I know him," Milburn whispered, with sinking voice and powers.
"Honest man! Bishop of our church! Bishop in the free West! God bless
him!"
He was lost again, as if he had fainted, for some time, and, all
kneeling, the young bishop made a prayer.
When they arose Milburn seemed speechless, yet he tried to raise his
hand, and, Vesta coming to his aid, his long, lean fingers closed around
hers, and he signalled to William Tilghman with his eyes.
The bishop came near, and, by a painful effort, Milburn put his wife's
hand in her cousin's. His lips framed a word without a sound:
"_Restitution.
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