Mrs. Fowler sighed deeply, whilst she gazed sadly and thoughtfully into the fire. She was silent so long that Salome thought she must have forgotten her presence; but suddenly she glanced at her with a smile and asked, "How is Margaret getting on with her knitting?"
"Oh, very well, ma'am!" was the reply. "But I am afraid she will not come so frequently now the winter days are at hand. Besides, father is oftener at home."
Mrs. Fowler nodded. She put her hand into her pocket and drew therefrom her purse, as she inquired, "How much is it your father owes Silas Moyle?"
"Nearly eighteen shillings," Salome admitted. "I know it's a lot of money," she added deprecatingly.
"A lot of money!" Mrs. Fowler echoed with a faint, amused smile as she opened her purse and took out a sovereign. "Here, my dear," she said, pressing the coin into her visitor's hand, "you will be able to pay your bread account now. Yes, it is for you—a present—put it in your pocket."
Salome was so astonished that she could find no words in which to speak her thanks; but her expressive eyes spoke for her, and told how deeply thankful she felt. She tied the sovereign up in one corner of her handkerchief, which she placed inside the bosom of her frock for greater safety. And then, having overcome her first sensation of intense surprise, she exclaimed, "Oh, ma'am, thank you! How good and kind you are! Oh, what will father say when he knows! It will be such a relief to be able to pay Silas Moyle, for we never owed him quite so much before. Oh, I shall be grateful to you as long as ever I live!"
"There, there, say no more about it. I am glad it is in my power to lift a little of the load of trouble from your young shoulders; your heaviest trial is beyond the reach of human aid. But oh! Go on loving your father, child, if you can, for he must want all your affection, I am sure."
To Salome's astonishment, she saw there were tears in Mrs. Fowler's blue eyes, and that her face was quivering with strong emotion. Before more could be said, however, Gerald flung open the door and rushed into the room, followed at a more decorous pace by his sister and Miss Conway, and a little later the master of the house appeared upon the scene.
No one would hear of Salome's leaving, till she had had tea, so she remained. And afterwards, she willingly consented to sing, so that it was quite dark before she left Greystone; and Mrs. Fowler insisted on sending a servant to see her home in safety.
Josiah Petherick was not sober that night, but the next morning, his daughter told him of the present Mrs. Fowler had made her, and expressed her determination of paying the baker that day. Nor would she hear of her father's settling the account, for, alas! she knew that he was not to be trusted. And that if she let him have the money, he would be more likely to betake himself to the "Crab and Cockle" than to Silas Moyle's shop.