"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 apron, 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 God."
She glided away as she spoke, and was lost in the crowd, leaving behind the hushed passion 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."