I have no fear when I think of Jem, who is so good." She stopped, oppressed with the fullness of her heart. Margaret began to love her again; to see in her the same, sweet, faulty, impulsive, lovable creature she had known in the former Mary Barton, but with more of dignity, self-reliance and purpose. Mary spoke again. "Now I know the name of Will's vessel-- John Cropper; and I know that she is bound to America. That is something to know. But I forget, if I ever heard, where he lodges in Liverpool. He spoke of his landlady, as a good, trustworthy woman; but if he named her name, it has slipped my memory. Can you help me, Margaret?" She appealed to her friend calmly and openly, as if perfectly aware of; and recognising the unspoken tie which bound her and Will together; she asked her in the same manner in which she would have asked a wife where her husband dwelt. And Margaret replied in the like calm tone, two spots of crimson on her cheeks alone bearing witness to any internal agitation. "He lodges at a Mrs Jones', Milk-House Yard, out of Nicholas Street. He has lodged there ever since be began to go to sea; she is a very decent kind of woman, I believe." "Well, Mary! I'll give you my prayers," said Job. "It's not often I pray regular, though I often speak a word to God, when I'm either very happy, or very sorry; I've catched myself thanking him at odd hours when I've found a rare insect, or had a fine day for an out; but I cannot help it, no more than I can talking to a friend. But this time I'll pray regular for Jem, and for you. And so will Margaret, I'll be bound. Still, wench! what think ye of a lawyer? I know one, Mr Cheshire, who's rather given to th' insect line--and a good kind o' chap. He and I have swopped specimens many's the time, when either of us had a duplicate. He'll do me a kind turn, I'm sure. I'll just take my hat, and pay him a visit." No sooner said than done. Margaret and Mary were left alone. And this seemed to bring back the feeling of awkwardness, not to say estrangement. But Mary, excited to an unusual pitch of courage, was the first to break silence. "Oh, Margaret!" said she, "I see--I feel how wrong you think I have acted; you cannot think me worse than I think myself; now my eyes are opened."
Here her sobs came choking up her voice. "Nay," Margaret began, "I have no right to----" "Yes, Margaret, you have a right to judge; you cannot help it; on y in your judgement remember mercy, as the Bible says. You, who have been always good, cannot tell how easy it is at first to go a little wrong, and then how hard it is to go back. Oh! I little thought when I was first pleased with Mr Carson's speeches, how it would all end; perhaps in the death of him I love better than life." She burst into a passion of tears. The feelings pent up through the day would have vent. But checking herself with a strong effort, and looking up at Margaret as piteously as if those calm, stony eyes could see her imploring face, she added, "I must not cry; I must not give way; there will be time enough for that hereafter, if--I only wanted you to speak kindly to me, Margaret, for I am very, very wretched; more wretched than any one can ever know; more wretched, I sometimes fancy, than I have deserved,--but that's wrong, isn't it, Margaret? Oh! I have done wrong, and I am punished: you cannot tell how much." Who could resist her voice, her tones of misery, of humility? Who would refuse the kindness for which she begged so penitently? Not Margaret. The old friendly manner came back. With it, maybe, more of tenderness. "Oh! Margaret, do you think he can be saved; do you think they can find him guilty, if Will comes forward as a witness? Won't that be a good alibi?" Margaret did not answer for a moment. "Oh, speak! Margaret," said Mary, with anxious impatience. "I know nought about law, or alibis," replied Margaret, meekly;
"but, Mary, as grandfather says, aren't you building too much on what Jane Wilson has told you about his going with Will? Poor soul, she's gone dateless, I think, with care, and watching, and overmuch trouble; and who can wonder?
Or Jem may have told her he was going, by way of a blind." "You don't know Jem," said Mary, starting from her seat in a hurried manner, "or you would not say so." I hope I may be wrong but think, Mary, how much there is against him. The shot was fired with his gun; he it was as threatened Mr Carson not many days before; he was absent from home at that very time, as we know, and, as I'm much afeared, some one will be called on to prove; and there's no one else to share suspicion with him." Mary heaved a deep sigh. "But, Margaret, he did not do it," Mary again asserted. Margaret looked unconvinced. "I can do no good, I see, by saying so, for none on you believe me, and I won't say so again till I can prove it. Monday morning I'll go to Liverpool.