Part 45 (1/2)

Gradually the mother approached, with her baby in her arms, until she was within half-a-dozen yards of the wall. Then she leaned against the trunk of an old apple-tree, and would not come any further.

”Are you ill?” said Lettice, gently.

Again the half-heard ”No,” but this time accompanied by a sob.

”Then why are you out at this time, and with your poor little baby, too?

Have you walked far to-day?”

”From Thorley.”

”Do you live at Thorley?”

”Not now.”

”Where do you come from?”

”London.”

”Let me see your baby. Is it hungry, or cold? Why do you keep so far away from me? and why are you crying? Oh, Milly, Milly! Is it you? Dear child, come to me!”

Then the girl came from amongst the branches of the tree, and tottered to the wall, and laid her child in the arms stretched out to receive it.

”Why did you not come to the door, Milly, instead of waiting out here?

You might have been sure of a welcome!”

She laid her hand on the head which was bowed down upon the wall, and which shook with the poor girl's sobs. Her bonnet had fallen off, and hung on her back; and Lettice noticed that the long hair of which the girl used to be so proud was gone.

”I did not come to the village till it was dark,” Milly said, as soon as she could speak. ”Then I should have knocked, but I saw you looking out at the window--and I was ashamed!”

”Ashamed?” said Lettice, in a low voice. There was one thing she thought, of which Milly could be ashamed. She looked from the weeping mother to the baby's face, and back again to Milly. ”My poor girl,” she said, with a sudden rush of tender feeling for the woman who had perhaps been tempted beyond her strength--so Lettice thought--”my poor child, you don't think _I_ should be unkind to you!”

”No, no! you were always so kind to me, miss. And I--I--was so wicked--so ungrateful--so deceitful----”

And with that she broke down utterly. Lettice's arms were round her neck, and the young mother, feeling herself in the presence of a comforter at last, let loose her pent-up misery and sobbed aloud.

”Where is--he? your husband?” said Lettice, remembering that she had heard of Milly's marriage from Mrs. Bundlecombe some time ago, and conjecturing that something had gone wrong, but not yet guessing the whole truth.

Milly sobbed on for a minute or two without replying. Then she said, somewhat indistinctly,

”He's gone away. Left me.”

”Left you? But--for a time, you mean? To look for work, perhaps?”

”No, no; he has left me altogether. I shall never see him again--never!”

said the girl, with sudden pa.s.sion. ”Oh, don't ask me any more, Miss Lettice, I can't bear it!”

”No, no,” said Lettice, pitifully, ”I will ask you no questions, Milly.

You shall tell me all about it or nothing, just as you like. We must not keep the baby out in the night air any longer. Come round to the door, and Mrs. Chigwin will let you in. I will tell her that you want a night's lodging, and then we will arrange what you are to do to-morrow.”