'Why, whatever do you mean?' asked Mrs. Jenkins in unfeigned amazement; 'ain't you coming very soon--as soon as--'
Her face fell, and she turned her eyes away. The subject was a terrible one, and they had avoided reference to it by common consent.
'No, my dear friend, I am not. I have been thinking it all over since I have been here, and I have come to the conclusion that I had better not go back just yet. I have made some friends here quite unexpectedly. Mr. Whitbread, the magistrate's brother, among others, has been kind enough to form a good opinion of me, and he has just been returned for B--. I dined with him last evening, and he talked to me a good deal about myself; asked about my post at New Orleans, whether it was a permanent one, and so on. I told him exactly how the matter stood, and that poor Mr. Griswold had been negotiating a better post for me, but one which would not be likely to be vacant for at least twelve months from the present time. Then Mr. Whitbread offered to engage me as his private secretary for that time certain. He represents an important constituency, and will be a very active member of the House of Commons. He is an advanced Liberal, and there would be no better opportunity for me to learn the routine of public business than in his employment. So I have accepted the offer, and I shall be in England at least one year.'
'I do not regret it, sir, for your sake,' replied Mrs. Jenkins, 'though I doubt it will come very hard on Mrs. Griswold. But, then, she is one who does not think of herself, and if it's good for you, she will be content.'
Thornton Carey looked at her inquiringly, and a sudden deep flush suffused his face. Mrs. Jenkins saw the sudden flush, and perfectly understood its origin, but she made no sign, and continued:
'Have you written to her, Mr. Carey, or am I to take her the news? It will be a surprise to Mr. Duval, too, though he will be very glad to find you here when he comes back. Very likely he'll be writing a play about it, and be glad of your help.'
'Writing a play, you dear droll woman, half a century behind the speed of the age! I would lay a stout wager the play is ready for rehearsal!'
Once more the scene of this story is by the seaboard. The mail steamer for New York is just about to sail, and the landing-stage is as usual crowded by sightseers anxious to witness its departure. It is a fine, cold, wintry day, and the sky is bright, the wind fair. Unrecognised, unnoticed by the crowd, who have no notion that the woman in widow's weeds, and the handsome young man who takes her on board the tender so carefully, were directly concerned in the great criminal trial which has been the central object of interest in Liverpool, Mrs. Jenkins and Thornton Carey pass the last few minutes of their companionship together.
Mrs. Jenkins is quite composed when she goes on board the Cuba, but she has been crying a good deal in the early hours of morning. She feels, now that the parting has come, how much Thornton Carey has cheered up and helped her through the anguish of her own bereavement; and now that all the excitement is over, her womanly heart has a touch of pity in it for the doomed wretch they have so effectually punished. But that is a weakness which she dares not betray to Thornton Carey, and which indeed she very soon gets over.
Thornton has seen to all the comforts of her state room--for Mrs. Jenkins is travelling 'like a lady,' and is not in the least likely to disgrace the character, as she is reticent and unassuming always--and has added to them many a little 'surprise,' which will bring tears of gladness to her eyes when she shall find them out; and they are now standing side by side in the saloon, waiting, with the dreary mingling of dread and impatience which characterises all scenes of parting, for the signal 'for shore.'