XVII

my uncle Toby . Amen, added Trim ; for Heaven above knows, I have a poor brother who has been fourteen years a captive in it.⁠—I never heard one word of it before, said my uncle Toby , hastily:⁠—How came he there, Trim? ⁠⸺⁠O, Sir! the story will make your heart bleed,⁠—as it has made mine a thousand times;⁠—but it is too long to be told now;⁠—your Honour shall hear it from first to last some day when I am working beside you in our fortifications;⁠—but the short of the story is this;⁠—That my brother Tom went over a servant to Lisbon ,⁠—and then married a Jew’s widow, who kept a small shop, and sold sausages, which somehow or other, was the cause of his being taken in the middle of the night out of his bed, where he was lying with his wife and two small children, and carried directly to the Inquisition, where, God help him, continued Trim , fetching a sigh from the bottom of his heart,⁠—the poor honest lad lies confined at this hour; he was as honest a soul, added Trim , (pulling out his handkerchief) as ever blood warmed.⁠⸺⁠ > > —The tears trickled down Trim’s cheeks faster than he could well wipe them away.⁠—And dead silence in the room ensued for some minutes.⁠—Certain proof of pity! > > Come, Trim , quoth my father, after he saw the poor fellow’s grief had got a little vent,⁠—read on,⁠—and put this melancholy story out of thy head:⁠—I grieve that I interrupted thee; but prithee begin the sermon again;⁠—for if the first sentence in it is matter of abuse, as thou sayest, I have a great desire to know what kind of provocation the apostle has given. > > Corporal Trim wiped his face, and returned his handkerchief