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 shore, 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 God'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 nobody!"
"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 assumed.
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 noble-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!"