"Why, you see, they've always swords quite handy at them plays," began Sally; but Mary, with an impatient shake of her head, interrupted,
"About Jem,—about Jem, I want to know."
"Oh! I don't pretend to know more than is in every one's mouth: he's turned away from the foundry, because folks don't think you've cleared him outright of the murder; though perhaps the jury were loth to hang him. Old Mr. Carson is savage against judge and jury, and lawyers and all, as I heard."
"I must go to him, I must go to him," repeated Mary, in a hurried manner.
"He'll tell you all I've said is true, and not a word of lie," replied Sally. "So I'll not give your answer to Miss Simmonds, but leave you to think twice about it. Good afternoon!"
Mary shut the door, and turned into the house.
Her father sat in the same attitude; the old unchanging attitude. Only his head was more bowed towards the ground.
She put on her bonnet to go to Ancoats; for see, and question, and comfort, and worship Jem, she must.
As she hung about her father for an instant before leaving him, he spoke—voluntarily spoke for the first time since her return; but his head was drooping so low she could not hear what he said, so she stooped down; and after a moment's pause, he repeated the words,
"Tell Jem Wilson to come here at eight o'clock to-night."