Part 46 (1/2)

”Is this Mrs. Jones's?” she inquired.

”Next door but one,” was the curt answer.

And even this extra minute was a reprieve.

Mrs. Jones was busy was.h.i.+ng, and would have spoken angrily to the person who knocked so gently at the door, if anger had been in her nature; but she was a soft, helpless kind of woman, and only sighed over the many interruptions she had had to her business that unlucky Monday morning.

But the feeling which would have been anger in a more impatient temper, took the form of prejudice against the disturber, whoever he or she might be.

Mary's fluttered and excited appearance strengthened this prejudice in Mrs. Jones's mind, as she stood, stripping the soap-suds off her arms, while she eyed her visitor, and waited to be told what her business was.

But no words would come. Mary's voice seemed choked up in her throat.

”Pray what do you want, young woman?” coldly asked Mrs. Jones at last.

”I want--oh! is Will Wilson here?”

”No, he is not,” replied Mrs. Jones, inclining to shut the door in her face.

”Is he not come back from the Isle of Man?” asked Mary, sickening.

”He never went; he stayed in Manchester too long; as perhaps you know, already.”

And again the door seemed closing.

But Mary bent forwards with suppliant action (as some young tree bends, when blown by the rough, autumnal wind), and gasped out--

”Tell me--tell--me--where is he?”

Mrs. Jones suspected some love affair, and, perhaps, one of not the most creditable kind; but the distress of the pale young creature before her was so obvious and so pitiable, that were she ever so sinful, Mrs. Jones could no longer uphold her short, reserved manner.

”He's gone this very morning, my poor girl. Step in, and I'll tell you about it.”

”Gone!” cried 'Mary. ”How gone? I must see him,--it's a matter of life and death: he can save the innocent from being hanged,--he cannot be gone,--how gone?”

”Sailed, my dear! sailed in the John Cropper this very blessed morning.”

”Sailed!”

XXVII. IN THE LIVERPOOL DOCKS.

”Yon is our quay!

Hark to the clamour in that miry road, Bounded and narrowed by yon vessel's load; The lumbering wealth she empties round the place, Package and parcel, hogshead, chest, and case; While the loud seaman and the angry hind, Mingling in business, bellow to the wind.”

--CRABBE.

Mary staggered into the house. Mrs. Jones placed her tenderly in a chair, and there stood bewildered by her side.

”O father! father!” muttered she, ”what have you done!--What must I do? must the innocent die?--or he--whom I fear--I fear--oh! what am I saying?” said she, looking round affrighted, and, seemingly rea.s.sured by Mrs. Jones's countenance, ”I am so helpless, so weak-- but a poor girl, after all. How can I tell what is right? Father!

you have always been so kind to me,--and you to be--never mind-- never mind, all will come right in the grave.”