Part 37 (1/2)

The curate bent his head once more, as they stood facing the street, and said, in low, impressive tones, ”I do believe you;” but he took no heed to a light, stealthy pace in the alley behind.

”What shall I do, sir?” cried Agnes eagerly.

”Take the child away at once,” replied Mr Sterne, ”and leave this life.

But will you?”

”If the gates of heaven were opened, sir, and One said, `Come in, poor sinner, and rest,' should I go?”

The stealthy step came nearer, but was unnoticed.

”Now tell me your name, and how came the intimacy of which I complain,”

said Mr Sterne.

”I--I knew the family; I knew Lucy--Miss Grey--before her father--and-- pray, pray ask me no more,” gasped Agnes appealingly. ”I will do all you wish, sir. Help me to get my child, and I will go anywhere you may tell me; but don't ask me that, sir.”

”Nay,” said Mr Sterne, with beating heart, for he felt that her reply would drive away his last doubt, ”tell me now; you may trust me.”

”Yes, yes,” sobbed Agnes; ”I know, but I cannot.”

The step sounded very close now, while the light from the lamp in the alley was for a moment obscured.

”I will do all that you ask,” sobbed Agnes. ”Tell me what else you wish, and I will be as obedient as a child, but--”

”Prove it, then, by telling me how began your intimacy with Miss--”

There was a wild scream from Agnes Hardon as she thrust the curate aside; but too late, for a heavy, dull blow from behind crushed through his hat, and stretched him upon the pavement, where, for an instant, a thousand lights seemed dancing before his eyes, and then all was blank.

It was no unusual sound that, a woman's shriek, especially the half-drunken cry of some street wanderer; but one window was opened, and a head thrust out, whose owner muttered for a moment and then closed the sash, for though he had seen a woman struggling with a man, he did not hear the words that pa.s.sed, nor could he see that the man was trying hard to extricate himself from the woman's grasp; but there were other wakeful eyes upon the watch.

Volume Three, Chapter VIII.

WASTE-PAPER.

”Well, yes, sir,” said Matt, standing hat in hand, ”'tis snug and comfortable, sir; and I'm glad to see the change, and I'm sure I wish you long life to enjoy it. Glad you've got here all right, sir; and sorry I was too weak to help you move. I've got the address down all right in my memo-book: look here, sir--150 Ess.e.x-street, Strand, sir.”

”And now we'll go, then, Matt,” said Septimus, rising.

”Go, sir?” said Matt.

”Yes,” said Septimus, ”if you will; for the thing has been too long neglected already.”

”Very true, sir,” said Matt: ”but you told me as the parson, sir, Mr Sterne, was going to take it in hand; and if so--”

”Now, Matt,” said Septimus appealingly, ”isn't he lying upon a bed of sickness, weak and helpless, and unable to move?”

”Well, yes, sir, that's true; and a rum start that was, too. Wonder who would have a spite against him? But I thought that now, sir, as you'd--”

Septimus Hardon took the old man by the arm and placed him in a chair; for it was evident that he was a little testy and jealous of other interposition in the matters in which he had taken so much interest; but the cordiality of Mrs Septimus seemed to chase it away; while Lucy, returning from a walk, beamed so happily upon the old man, that he looked his old self again, and owned to the feeling that, as he expressed it, he had expected that he was going to be ”pitched overboard,” now there were new friends.