And to many another, besides James Peake, it seemed that Sarah Sutton
wore robes of light. She was a creature born to be the succour of
misery, the balm of distress. She would have soothed the two thieves on
Calvary. Led on by the bounteous instinct of a divine, all-embracing
sympathy, the intrepid spirit within her continually forced its fragile
physical mechanism into an activity which appeared almost supernatural.
According to every rule of medicine she should have been dead long
since; but she lived--by volition. It was to the credit of Bursley that
the whole town recognized in Sarah Sutton the treasure it held.
"I wanted to see you," Mrs Sutton said, after they had exchanged various
inquiries.
"What about?"
"Mrs Lovatt was telling me yesterday you hadn't made up your mind about
that organ subscription." They were ascending the steepest part of
Oldcastle Street, and Peake lowered the reins and let the horse into a
walk.
"Now look here, Mrs Sutton," he began, with passionate frankness, "I can
talk to you. You know me; you know I'm not one of their set, as it were.
Of course I've got a pew and all that; but you know as well as I do that
I don't belong to the chapel lot.
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