“What do you mean, Deborah?”
“The money, Mr. Gilbert! They allowed me half, though the constables was for thirds, but the Judge said I'd arned the full half,—God knows, ten thousand times wouldn't pay me!—and I've got it here, tied up safe. It's your'n, you know, and maybe there a'n't quite enough, but as fur as it goes; and I'll work out the amount o' the rest, from time to time, if you'll let me come onto your place!”
Gilbert was powerfully and yet painfully moved. He forgot his detestation of the relation in which Deb. Smith had stood to the highwayman, in his gratitude for her devotion to himself. He felt an invincible repugnance towards accepting her share of the reward, even as a loan; it was “blood-money,” and to touch it in any way was to be stained with its color; yet how should he put aside her kindness without inflicting pain upon her rude nature, made sensitive at last by abuse, persecution, and remorse?
His face spoke in advance of his lips, and she read its language with wonderful quickness.
“Ah!” she cried, “I mistrusted how it'd be; you don't want to say it right out, but I'll say it for you! You think the money'd bring you no luck,—maybe a downright curse,—and how can I say it won't? Ha'n't it cursed me? Sandy said it would, even as your'n follered him. What's it good for, then? It burns my hands, and them that's clean, won't touch it. There, you damned devil's-bait,—my arm's sore, and my heart's sore, wi' the weight o' you!”
With these words she flung the cloth, with its bunch of hard silver coins, upon the threshing-floor. It clashed like the sound of chains. Gilbert saw that she was sorely hurt. Tears of disappointment, which she vainly strove to hold back, rose to her eyes, as she grimly folded her arms, and facing him, said,—
“Now, what am I to do?”
“Stay here for the present, Deborah,” he answered.
“Eh? A'n't I summonsed? The job I undertook isn't done yet; the wust part's to come! Maybe they'll let me off from puttin' the rope round his neck, but I a'n't sure o' that!”
“Then come to me afterwards,” he said, gently, striving to allay her fierce, self-accusing mood. “Remember that you always have a home and a shelter with me, whenever you need them. And I'll take your money,” he added, picking it up from the floor,—“take it in trust for you, until the time shall come when you will be willing to use it. Now go in to my mother.”