She began to sob again, but quietly, and hanging her head.
“’Twas—’twas him there, I think, a-playing so beautiful; and—and, I seemed overtook, all of a sudden, with my wickedness. I want to get out, to escape, from—from——”
“Why, from yourself, child; and so you shall. But whither? To him?”
“O no, no! To mother.”
“Come, then; I will see you on your road.”
“O, don’t, sir!”
“Pish! I am sincere. What is thy name?”
“Betty, sir.”
“Harkee, Betsinda! I also heard the harpist, and was ‘overtook,’ and repented me of my sins—for the time being. Now for the nonce I am to be trusted; but you must hurry. This virtue will certainly last to the gate, where I will see you safe bestowed. Go home, then, and be a good girl, and never think to sin this way again.”
She still hesitated, tearful and in doubt, but quickly surrendered to his insistence, and went beside him submissively. He led her by a circuitous route to the great wicket of the place, where it stood in a blaze of flambeaux facing the dining-hall; and there outside waited a throng of chairs and vehicles, the most having brought visitors, but among them several hackney coaches, driven over, as they might be to-day, on the chance of a fare. And into one of these Hamilton bundled his charge, having first settled with the coachman; and he sent her off with his blessing, smiling on her timid benedictions. And then he turned his back on the gate, and smacked his chest with ineffable unction, and threw a glance at the sky, as if to observe if the recording angel were there making a note.