Part 17 (2/2)

f.a.n.n.y arrived at the station near Woodville by the early train from the city. On the way, she had been thinking of her own guilt, and considering what she should do and say when she stood in the presence of her injured friends. She was not studying how to conceal or palliate her offence, but how she could best tell the whole truth. She gave herself no credit for any good deed she had done during her absence; she did not flatter herself that she had been benevolent and kind in using the stolen money as she had used it; she did not believe that her tender vigil at the bedside of the dying girl made her less guilty.

She felt that she deserved a severe punishment, and that it would do her good to suffer for what she had done. She was even willing to be sent to prison, to be disgraced, and banished from the happy home at Woodville, whose hospitality she had abused. She felt that the penalty of her errors, whatever it might be, would do her good. She was filled with contrition and shame as she left the station; she hung her head, and did not dare to look the people she met in the face. The f.a.n.n.y who went from Woodville a few days before had returned an entirely different being.

Slowly and gloomily she walked down the road that led to the residence of Mr. Grant. It seemed as though she had been absent a year, and everything looked strange to her, though the change was all in herself.

All the currents of her former life had ceased to flow; the movements of the wheel of events had been abruptly suspended. What gladdened her before did not gladden her now, and what had once been a joy was now a sorrow. She felt as though she had been transferred from the old world, in which she had rejoiced in mischief and wrong, to a new world, whose hopes and joys had not yet been revealed to her.

She approached the cottage of Mr. Long, the constable, who had probably been engaged in the search for her since her departure. She went up to the door and knocked. Mr. Long had just finished his breakfast, and she was shown into the little parlor.

”So you have got back, f.a.n.n.y Grant,” said he, very coldly and sternly, as he entered the room where she stood waiting for him.

”I have,” she replied, just raising her eyes from the floor.

”Where have you been?”

”In New York city.”

”Where did you stay?”

”At the house of a poor woman in the upper part of the city.”

”I thought so; or I should have found you. You have been a very bad girl, f.a.n.n.y.”

”I know it, sir. You may send me to prison now, for I deserve the worst you can do to me,” replied f.a.n.n.y, choking with her emotions.

”You ought to be sent there. What did you come here for?”

”I stole the money, and I suppose you were sent to catch me. I am willing to be sent to prison.”

”You are very obliging,” sneered the constable. ”We don't generally ask people whether they are willing or not when we send them to prison.”

”I give myself up to you; and you can do with me what you think best.”

”I know I can.”

”You didn't catch me. I come here of myself; that is what I meant by saying that I was willing to be sent to prison.”

”What have you done with the money you stole?” asked the constable, who was very much astonished at the singular conduct of f.a.n.n.y.

”I have spent most of it.”

”I suppose so,” replied Mr. Long, who deemed it his duty to be stern and unsympathizing. ”How did you spend it?”

”I will tell Mr. Grant all about it,” answered f.a.n.n.y, who did not care to repeat her story to such a person as the constable; and she felt that he would be fully justified in disbelieving her statements.

”Perhaps you will tell me, if I wish you to do so.”

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