“But why?”
“Lawk, Miss, I dar’n’t.”
“Oh, you need not be afraid of consequences; there would be no danger to you. You might be suspected, but you could not be convicted, for no one on earth could prove that, overcome by fatigue you didn’t fall asleep; and so the worse that could befall you would be the loss of your place—for I do suppose they would not keep a female warder who was addicted to falling asleep on her watch. But, Mrs. Barton, any loss you might sustain, should be made up to you a hundred-fold.”
“’Taint that, Miss; I ain’t afeared of nothink but doing wrong. I dar’n’t let her escape.”
“But it would be a meritorious act, helping the innocent to evade unmerited death.”
“So it would, Miss, under some circumstances; but, you see, when I took this place, I pledged myself to obey the laws, and to watch over the safe custody of the prisoners under my charge. And so I dar’n’t break my word, or betray my trust, Miss—no, not even to save her precious life, as it melts my heart to see her suffer so,” said Mrs. Barton, putting her apron up to her face, and beginning to cry again.
“Not if I was to offer you five hundred pounds—a thousand pounds?”
“Not if so be as you were to offer me ten thousand, Miss,” sobbed the woman.
“Look at Eudora, then; if you won’t let her go, only look at her,” said Annella, artfully.
Mrs. Barton dropped her apron, and turned her eyes towards the prisoner, who sat upon the side of her bed, with her head bent forward, her cheeks flushed, her lips apart, her eyes strained outward, and her hands clasped and extended in mute, eloquent appeal for freedom.