"Sailed, my dear! sailed in the John Cropper this very blessed morning."
"Sailed!"
CHAPTER XXVII.
IN THE LIVERPOOL DOCKS.
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"Yon is our quay! Hark to the clamour in that miry road, Bounded and narrowed by yon vessel's load; The lumbering wealth she empties round the place, Package and parcel, hogshead, chest and case: While the loud seaman and the angry hind, Mingling in business, bellow to the wind." Crabbe. |
Mary staggered into the house. Mrs. Jones placed her tenderly in a chair, and there stood bewildered by her side.
"Oh, father! father!" muttered she, "what have you done?—What must I do? must the innocent die?—or he—whom I fear—I fear—oh! what am I saying?" said she, looking round affrighted, and seemingly reassured by Mrs. Jones's countenance, "I am so helpless, so weak,—but a poor girl after all. How can I tell what is right? Father! you have always been so kind to me,—and you to be—never mind—never mind, all will come right in the grave."
"Save us, and bless us!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones, "if I don't think she's gone out of her wits!"
"No, I'm not!" said Mary, catching at the words, and with a strong effort controlling the mind she felt to be wandering, while the red blood flushed to scarlet the heretofore white cheek, "I'm not out of my senses; there is so much to be done—so much—and no one but me to do it, you know,—though I can't rightly tell what it is," looking up with bewilderment into Mrs. Jones's face. "I must not go mad whatever comes—at least not yet. No!" (bracing herself up) "something may yet be done, and I must do it. Sailed! did you say? The John Cropper? Sailed?"