“Sends her love and all that sort of thing, and told me to let you know that if you needed it she would let you have what you want to pay the costs incurred for your defence.”
“Umph, it’s jolly good of her. Tell her I don’t want anything at present. I’ve got enough to last me till after the trial, but possibly I may avail myself of her offer after then. Ah, Bill, but they’ve got me pretty tight now. There aint much chance of slipping out of this—none whatever.”
A long conversation now took place between the prisoner and his wife. This chiefly related to the disposal of certain sums of money and domestic matters generally.
Mrs. Peace was tearful and broken down, but she strove to bear up against this new misfortune as best she could.
Peace had but little consideration for her. His thoughts were engaged upon his own terrible position.
While he was conversing with his wife, the woman O’Grady set up one of her wild howls again, and interrupted the conversation.
“Can’t you be quiet, woman?” said Peace. “A fellow is notable to hear himself speak.”
“Och, but it’s nearly mad that I am—I’ve seven childhre, and none on ’em iver did anything as they need be ashamed ov, barrin’ this poor lad, who has been brought into throuble through that dirty blackguard, Cakey, and bad luck to him.”
“I think you told us that before, missus,” suggested one of the other prisoners. “The story is a little old.”
“It’s ould—is it?”