'And tha found out for sure. Tell me a' abaat it.'
'I'm not sure enough to tell any one anything,' he answered: 'but I was sure enough to throw away all my chances, because I felt I couldn't have anything more to do with a fellow who'd do such a beastly mean thing as that.'
He had no idea that he was not speaking the truth. He had by this time really convinced himself that he had been prompted in his quarrel by the highest moral considerations, and had taught himself to forget how other motives and influences had been at work, and how he had been forced to acknowledge this at the time.
'How did tha find it out?' Mrs Hatfield persisted: and Richard in desperation told her the whole story. It seemed to her as convincing as it had done to him.
The mother asked him innumerable questions about Alice—how had she looked, how had she spoken? It grieved him not to be able to give her pleasanter answers, but, rather to his surprise, her mind seemed to dwell less with sorrow on Alice's want and hard work, than with pleasure on the thought that her daughter had given up her lover, or, as she called it, returned to the narrow path. But why had she not returned to her mother? And that question Dick could not answer. All these questions and replies had taken some time, and the Dartford train had gone. Dick found out the time of the next train, and then came and sat down beside her, and did his best to cheer her, in which attempt his real affection for her assured him a measure of success. By the time the Dartford train was due she was calm again and reasonably cheerful. He led her to tell him of their life since they had come to London; how nearly everything had been turned into money; how the basket on her arm contained all that she had been able to keep; and how she was going down to join her husband, and to try to take root with him in a fresh soil. From her he heard for the first time of Count Litvinoff's visit to Thornsett, of the rioting of the mill hands, and, though she did not say so in so many words, he could see that she placed the two events in the relation of cause and effect. She told him, too, of Litvinoff's bravery, and of the fate of the luckless Isaac Potts; and Dick, though he couldn't help feeling interest and admiration at this recital, did not like the way in which Miss Stanley's name and Litvinoff's were coupled in Mrs Hatfield's account of the help, advice, and kindness shown to the hands before they dispersed from Thornsett. Her words suggested to him vague suspicions; but he couldn't think much just then, for it was time to take Mrs Hatfield's ticket and to see her off. This he did, and when he had seen her comfortably seated in a corner of a second-class carriage, he said good-bye to her, giving her at parting a very hearty hand-shake, and a sovereign, which he could ill afford.
'Good-bye, dear,' he said; 'you must write and tell me how you get on. Here's my address, and I hope with all my heart you will have good fortune.'
He drew back from the train as it began to move, and waved a farewell. She in turn waved her damp cotton handkerchief, and was borne out of sight.
As she disappeared Dick began to wonder what he should do with himself. The lecture he had been about to attend was hopelessly lost and there was nothing particular to be done till after lunch. Obedient to what would have been the instinct of most young men under such circumstances, his first thought was to take a ticket to Charing Cross, that being a more cheerful place for the consideration of any problem than the station where he found himself. In common with every other traveller on the South-Eastern Railway, he had long since arrived at the conclusion that London Bridge was the most unreasonably comfortless and altogether objectionable station in England—which is saying a good deal. He was just turning to go down to the booking office when—
'Great heavens, how wonderful!' he said. As he turned he found himself face to face with the girl whose mother had just left him. She was close to him, and had instinctively held out her hand, which he had clasped in greeting before he noticed that she was not alone. Her companion was evidently a gentleman. Her dress was much better than had been that of the girl for whom he had carried the brown-paper parcel five months ago. Richard noticed this with a pang of uneasiness as he said,—