'Yo'd be there then, were yo'?' asked Bessy languidly for indeed,

she had spoken with many pauses, as if speech was unusually

difficult to her.

'Yes. Never mind. Go on. Only it was not Boucher that threw the

stone. But what did he answer to your father?' 'He did na' speak words. He were all in such a tremble wi' spent

passion, I could na' bear to look at him. I heard his breath

coming quick, and at one time I thought he were sobbing. But when

father said he'd give him up to police, he gave a great cry, and

struck father on th' face wi' his closed fist, and be off like

lightning. Father were stunned wi' the blow at first, for all

Boucher were weak wi' passion and wi' clemming. He sat down a

bit, and put his hand afore his eyes; and then made for th' door.

I dunno' where I got strength, but I threw mysel' off th' settle

and clung to him. "Father, father!" said I. "Thou'll never go

peach on that poor clemmed man. I'll never leave go on thee, till

thou sayst thou wunnot." "Dunnot be a fool," says he, "words come

readier than deeds to most men. I never thought o' telling th'

police on him; though by G--, he deserves it, and I should na'

ha' minded if some one else had done the dirty work, and got him

clapped up. But now he has strucken me, I could do it less nor

ever, for it would be getting other men to take up my quarrel.

But if ever he gets well o'er this clemming, and is in good

condition, he and I'll have an up and down fight, purring an' a',

and I'll see what I can do for him." And so father shook me

off,--for indeed, I was low and faint enough, and his face was

all clay white, where it weren't bloody, and turned me sick to

look at. And I know not if I slept or waked, or were in a dead

swoon, till Mary come in; and I telled her to fetch yo' to me.

And now dunnot talk to me, but just read out th' chapter. I'm

easier in my mind for having spit it out; but I want some

thoughts of the world that's far away to take the weary taste of

it out o' my mouth. Read me--not a sermon chapter, but a story

chapter; they've pictures in them, which I see when my eyes are

shut. Read about the New Heavens, and the New Earth; and m'appen

I'll forget this.' Margaret read in her soft low voice. Though Bessy's eyes were

shut, she was listening for some time, for the moisture of tears

gathered heavy on her eyelashes. At last she slept; with many

starts, and muttered pleadings. Margaret covered her up, and left

her, for she had an uneasy consciousness that she might be wanted

at home, and yet, until now, it seemed cruel to leave the dying

girl. Mrs. Hale was in the drawing-room on her daughter's return.

It was one of her better days, and she was full of praises of the

water-bed. It had been more like the beds at Sir John Beresford's

than anything she had slept on since. She did not know how it

was, but people seemed to have lost the art of making the same

kind of beds as they used to do in her youth. One would think it

was easy enough; there was the same kind of feathers to be had,

and yet somehow, till this last night she did not know when she

had had a good sound resting sleep. Mr. Hale suggested, that

something of the merits of the featherbeds of former days might

be attributed to the activity of youth, which gave a relish to

rest; but this idea was not kindly received by his wife.




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