“Well!” declared Miss Becky, with strong disapproval, “I don’t think he’d ought to hev deceived his mother that way; do you?”
This was a poser; but at that moment the orchestra came to the rescue with a new tune, and Nannie was spared the necessity of replying.
After that the play became every moment more exciting and the central figure 209 more entirely captivating, and even between the acts Nannie was preoccupied and unobservant. They had got to the prison scene, with all its ingenious intricacies of plot and stage machinery; Con had accomplished the rescue, and was scrambling over the rocks, when suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rang out, followed by another, and then another, in quick succession.
Instantly Nannie felt her arm clutched, and she heard Miss Becky saying: “You must come right away, this very minute!”
“Oh, please not, Miss Becky,” she implored.
But there was a resolute gleam in Miss Becky’s eye.
“Come right along, child,” she whispered, hoarsely, “come right along with me!”—and poor Nannie, to her consternation and chagrin, found herself absolutely obliged to follow.
The whole row of people stood up to let them pass, and every kind of look—glances of amusement and curiosity, of annoyance and of sympathy—followed the 210 oddly assorted pair, as they made their way out of the slip and then up the aisle.
Once outside the door, the tension of Miss Becky’s face relaxed, but she did not waver in her determination.
“There, child!” she cried, as they walked down the slight incline of the long passageway to the street. “There! I am glad I had strength given me to do my duty by you!”