Part 50 (2/2)

”Oh, she's _puddlin'_ along,” she said in answer to Marcella's inquiry, using a word very familiar in the village. ”She'll not do herself a mischief while there's Nurse Ellen an' me to watch her like a pair o'

cats. She's dreadful upset, is Isabella--shouldn't ha' thought it of her. That fust day”--a cloud darkened the curious, dreamy face--”no, I'm not a-goin' to think about that fust day, I'm not, 'tain't a ha'porth o'

good,” she added resolutely; ”but she was all right when they'd let her get 'im 'ome, and wash an' settle 'im, an' put 'im comfortable like in his coffin. He wor a big man, miss, when he wor laid out! Searle, as made the coffin, told her as ee 'adn't made one such an extry size since old Harry Flood, the blacksmith, fifteen year ago. Ee'd soon a done for Jim Hurd if it 'ad been fists o' both sides. But guns is things as yer can't reckon on.”.

”Why didn't he let Hurd alone,” said Marcella, sadly, ”and prosecute him next day? It's attacking men when their blood is up that brings these awful hings about.”

”Wal, I don't see that,” said Mrs. Jellison, pugnaciously; ”he wor paid to do 't--an' he had the law on his side. 'Ow 's she?” she said, lowering her voice and jerking her thumb in the direction of the Hurds'

cottage.

”She's very ill,” replied Marcella, with a contraction of the brow.

”Dr. Clarke says she ought to stay in bed, but of course she won't.”

”They're a-goin' to try 'im Thursday?” said Mrs. Jellison, inquiringly.

”Yes.”

”An' Muster Wharton be a-goin' to defend 'im. Muster Wharton may be cliver, ee may--they do say as ee can see the gra.s.s growin', ee's that knowin'--but ee'll not get Jim Hurd off; there's n.o.body in the village as b'lieves for a moment as 'ow he will. They'll best 'im. Lor' bless yer, they'll best 'im. I was a-sayin' it to Isabella this afternoon--ee'll not save 'is neck, don't you be afeared.”

Marcella drew herself up with a s.h.i.+ver of repulsion.

”Will it mend your daughter's grief to see another woman's heart broken?

Don't you suppose it might bring her some comfort, Mrs. Jellison, if she were to try and forgive that poor wretch? She might remember that her husband gave him provocation, and that anyway, if his life is spared, his punishment and their misery will be heavy enough!”

”Oh, lor' no!” said Mrs. Jellison, composedly. ”She don't want to be forgivin' of 'im. Mr. Harden ee come talkin' to 'er, but she isn't one o' that sort, isn't Isabella. I'm sartin sure she'll be better in 'erself when they've put 'im out o' the way. It makes her all ov a fever to think of Muster Wharton gettin' 'im off. _I_ don't bear Jim Hurd no pertickler malice. Isabella may talk herself black i' the face, but she and Johnnie'll have to come 'ome and live along o' me, whatever she may say. She can't stay in that cottage, cos they'll be wantin' it for another keeper. Lord Maxwell ee's givin' her a fine pension, my word ee is! an' says ee'll look after Johnnie. And what with my bit airnins--we'll do, yer know, miss--we'll do!”

The old woman looked up with a nod, her green eyes sparkling with the queer inhuman light that belonged to them.

Marcella could not bring herself to say good-night to her, and was hurrying on without a word, when Mrs. Jellison stopped her.

”An' 'ow about that straw-plaitin', miss?” she said slyly.

”I have had to put it on one side for a bit,” said Marcella, coldly, hating the woman's society. ”I have had my hands full and Lady Winterbourne has been away, but we shall, of course, take it up again later.”

She walked away quickly, and Mrs. Jellison hobbled after her, grinning to herself every now and then as she caught the straight, tall figure against the red evening sky.

”I'll go in ter town termorrer,” she thought, ”an' have a crack wi'

Jimmy Gedge; _ee_ needn't be afeard for 'is livin'. An' them great fules as ha' bin runnin' in a string arter 'er, an' cacklin' about their eighteen-pence a score, as I've told 'em times, I'll eat my ap.r.o.n the fust week as iver they get it. I don't hold wi' ladies--no, nor pa.s.sons neither--not when it comes to meddlin' wi' your wittles, an' dictatin'

to yer about forgivin' them as ha' got the better ov yer. That young lady there, what do she matter? That sort's allus gaddin' about? What'll she keer about us when she's got 'er fine husband? Here o' Sat.u.r.day, gone o' Monday--that's what she is. Now Jimmy Gedge, yer kin allus count on '_im._ Thirty-six year ee ha' set there in that 'ere shop, and I guess ee'll set there till they call 'im ter kingdom come. Be's a cheatin', sweatin', greedy old skinflint is Jimmy Gedge; but when yer wants 'im yer _kin_ find 'im.”

Marcella hurried home, she was expecting a letter from Wharton, the third within a week. She had not set eyes on him since they had met that first morning in the drive, and it was plain to her that he was as unwilling as she was that there should be any meeting between them.

Since the moment of his taking up the case, in spite of the pressure of innumerable engagements, he had found time to send her, almost daily, sheets covered with his small even writing, in which every detail and prospect of the legal situation, so far as it concerned James Hurd, were noted and criticised with a shrewdness and fulness which never wavered, and never lost for a moment the professional note.

”Dear Miss Boyce”--the letters began--leading up to a ”Yours faithfully,” which Marcella read as carefully as the rest. Often, as she turned them over, she asked herself whether that scene in the library had not been a mere delusion of the brain, whether the man whose wild words and act had burnt themselves into her life could possibly be writing her these letters, in this key, without a reference, without an allusion. Every day, as she opened them, she looked them through quietly with a shaking pulse; every day she found herself proudly able to hand them on to her mother, with the satisfaction of one who has nothing to conceal, whatever the rest of the world may suspect. He was certainly doing his best to replace their friends.h.i.+p on that level of high comrades.h.i.+p in ideas and causes which, as she told herself, it had once occupied. His own wanton aggression and her weakness had toppled it down thence, and brought it to ruin. She could never speak to him, never know him again till it was re-established. Still his letters galled her. He a.s.sumed, she supposed, that such a thing could happen, and nothing more be said about it? How little he knew her, or what she had in her mind!

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