Fashion and Famine Part 51

Mrs. Gray left her customer by the stall, and went down the market in benevolent haste, the snowy strings of her cap floating out, and the broad expanse of her ap.r.o.n rippling with the rapidity of her steps. She met Mrs. Warren with a kindly, but subdued greeting, and, without releasing the thin hand she had grasped, led the heart-stricken woman up to her stall.

"There, now, sit down upon my stool," she said, giving another gentle shake of the withered hand, before she relinquished it. "You are tired and out of breath; there, there, keep quiet; cry away, if you like, I'll stand before you!"

The good woman had seen tears gathering into the wild eyes of her visitor from the first--for if tears are locked in a grateful, heart, kindness will bring them forth--and with that intuitive delicacy which made all her acts so genial, she left the poor creature to weep in peace, shielding her from notice by the breast-work of her own ample person.

"Oh, the cranberries! I have kept you waiting!" she said to the customer who stood motionless by the stall, apparently unconscious of all that was pa.s.sing, but keenly interested, notwithstanding this seeming apathy.

The lady started at this address, and without answer watched Mrs. Gray as she twisted half of the torn newspaper over her hand, and afterward filled it with berries. She took the paper, mechanically laid down a piece of silver, and waited for the change. All this was done in a cold, strengthless way, like one who does every thing well from habit, and who omits no detail of a life that has lost all interest. She stood a moment after receiving the parcel, and then drawing close to Mrs. Gray, whispered--

"Ask her where she lives!"

Mrs. Gray looked around, and saw that the pale face was bowed still, and that tears were pouring down it like rain. She leaned forward and whispered--

"Do you live in the old place yet?"

"No," was the broken answer, "I could not stay there alone, if the rent were paid. As it is they would not let me, I suppose."

"Where is your home, then? Where is your family?" said the lady, in her gentle way.

"They are in prison; my home is the street!"

"But where do you sleep?"

"Nowhere, I have not wanted to sleep since they took _him_!" was the sad reply. "I walk up and down all night; it is a little chilly sometimes, but a great deal better than sitting alone to think."

"She will go home with me," said Mrs. Gray, addressing her customer, and drawing one hand across her eyes, for their soft brown was becoming misty. "Of course she will--I don't know you, ma'am, but somehow it seems as if you would like to help this poor, unfortunate woman. She needs friends, and has got one, at any rate, but the more the better!"

"If--if you could only persuade the judge to let me stay in prison with them," said Mrs. Warren, lifting her face to the lady with an air of pleading humility. "I don't want a better home than that."

"They! Was it not they you said?" questioned the huckster woman. "Who is in prison besides Mr. Warren? Not Julia--not my little flower-angel--you do not mean that?"

"They let all go in but me!" answered Mrs. Warren, with a look of pitiful desolation.

"I never said it before!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray, untying her ap.r.o.n, rolling it up and twisting the strings around it with a degree of energy quite disproportioned to this simple operation--"I never said it before, but I'm ashamed of my country--it's a disgrace to humanity. I only wish Jacob knew it, that's all!"

"Hush!" said the lady, with her cold, low voice. "There's one stronger than the laws who permits these things for his own wise purposes."

Mrs. Warren looked up. A wan smile quivered over her face. "That is so like him--he said these very words."

"He is right! you must not feel so hopeless, or be altogether miserable--have faith! have charity!" added the gentle speaker, turning from the mournful eyes of Mrs. Warren, and addressing the huckster woman. "You cannot know how many other persons are suffering from this very cause. Let us all be patient--let us all trust in G.o.d."

She glided away as she spoke, and was lost in the crowd, leaving behind the hushed pa.s.sion of grief and a feeling of awe, for the calm dignity of her own sorrow subdued the resentment which Mrs. Gray had felt, like the rebuke of an angel.

"Did you know her?" she questioned, drawing a deep breath, as the black garments disappeared. "One would think she understood the whole case."

Mrs. Warren shook her head.

"I suppose she was right," continued the huckster woman--"I _know_ she was right, but we can't always feel the pious faith she wants us to have; if we did there would be no sorrow. Who minds wading a river when certain just how deep the water is, and while banks covered with flowers lie in full sight on the other side? It is plunging into a dark stream, with clouds hiding the sh.o.r.e, and not a star asleep in the bottom, that tries the faith. But after all, she speaks like one who knows what such things mean. So be comforted my poor friend, the river is dark, the clouds are heavy, but somewhere we shall find a gleam of G.o.d's mercy folded up in the blackness. Isn't there a hymn--I think there is--that says, 'earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure?'"

"Oh! if they would let me stay with him!" answered the poor old woman, with her wan smile, "I could have faith then, that is heaven to me!"

"You shall see him--you shall stay with him from morning till night, if you would rather! I'll go into court myself. I'll haunt the alderman like an office-seeker, till some of them lets you in. I'll--yes, I'll go after Jacob, he can do anything; you never saw Jacob--my brother Jacob, he's a man to deal with these courts. Strong as a lion, honest as a house-dog; been half his life in foreign parts. Knows more in ten minutes than his sister does in a whole year; he'll set things to rights in no time. Your husband is innocent--innocent as I am--we must prove it, that's all!"

Mrs. Warren did not speak the thanks that beamed in every lineament of her face; but she took the hand which Mrs. Gray had laid upon hers, and pressing it softly between her thin palms, raised it to her lips.

"Poh--poh, they will see you! Cheer up now, and let us consider how to begin. If Jacob were only here now, or even my nephew, Robert Otis, he would be better than n.o.body!"

"Thank you, aunt Gray--thank you a thousand times for this estimate of modest merit," said a voice at her elbow, whose cheerfulness was certainly somewhat a.s.sumed.

Mrs. Gray turned with a degree of eagerness that threatened to destroy the equilibrium of her stately person.

"Robert--Robert Otis," she cried, addressing the n.o.ble-looking youth, who stood with his hand extended, ready for the warm greeting that was sure to be his. "I was just wishing for you--so was poor Mrs. Warren; you remember Mrs. Warren's grand-daughter--she is in trouble--great trouble!"

"Yes, I know," said young Otis, remarking the painful expression that came and went on that withered face. "I have been to the prison!"

"Did you see him? Did they let you in?" exclaimed Mrs. Warren, beginning to tremble. "Oh! tell me how he was--did he miss me very much? Was he anxious about his poor wife?"

"I was too early--they did not let me in," replied the young man, bending a pair of fine eyes, full of n.o.ble compa.s.sion, on the old woman; "but I learned from one of the keepers that your husband was more composed than persons usually are the first night of confinement."

The old woman sunk back to her seat, with an air of meek disappointment.

"And Julia, my grandchild--did you inquire about her?"

Robert's countenance changed; there was something unsteady in his voice, as he replied; it seemed embarra.s.sed with some tender recollection.

"I saw her!"

"You saw her! How did she look?--what did she say?"

"I got admission to speak with Mrs. Foster, the matron, a fine, pleasant woman, you will be glad to know; but it was early for visitors, and I only saw your grand-daughter through the grating."

"Was she ill?--was she crying?--did she look pale?"

"She looked pale, certainly, but calm and quiet as an angel in heaven."

"Oh! she is like an angel, that dear grand-daughter!"

"She was leading a little child by the hand, up and down the lower pa.s.sage--a beautiful creature, who kept his quiet, soft eyes fixed on hers, as we sometimes see a house-dog gaze on its owner. I had but one glimpse, and came away."

"Then she did not seem unhappy?" questioned the old woman.

"I could not say that. Her eyes were heavy, as if she had cried a good deal in the night, but she was calm when I saw her."

"Would they let me look at her as you did, if I promised not to speak a word?"

"There is no reason why you should not speak with her and your husband too. If the keepers refuse, I will obtain an order from the sheriff."

"Do you think so, really? Can I see them to-day?"