'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.