"Would the Justice be so kind as to see me, just for two minutes," said the poor woman, when the butler at last appeared at the door.
The man glanced at the thin, anxious face, the shabby but decent mourning; he felt pity for a widow who, as he believed, had come to ask for charity, and who was not likely to receive it.
"Master does not care to see poor folk," observed he; "there's no use coming to him."
"Perhaps if you were so kind as to give him my name, Widow Carey, he might let me have just a word with him; I bring a message from my son."
"Your son, what, the poor fellow who was almost battered to pieces in the lane!" cried the butler. "Just you wait here a little—there's no harm in taking in your name."
The butler was scarcely absent a minute, but in that minute the poor widow had found time for a silent, fervent prayer.
"The Justice will see you," said the kindhearted man, and Mrs. Carey was ushered into the study.
The knees of the widow trembled under her, partly from weariness, partly from fear; she grasped her staff more tightly, and leant more heavily on it. Timidly she glanced at the Justice as she entered his presence. He was, as when John had seen him, bolstered with cushions and swathed with wraps, but his fat swollen face looked more grave and annoyed than when young Carey had come for his money.
"How shall I ever dare to tell him what brings me here!" thought the widow.
Justice Burns was the first to speak, which he did in a sharp decided tone. "I know what you've come for, Mrs. Carey."