Malcolm beckoned her to his side, and as they walked down the lobby, he said:
“I wished to speak to you alone, Mrs. Barton, to ask you about your charge. She seems wonderfully composed for so young a girl in so awful a position. I fear that it is only assumed composure, for I see that she is sinking fast under her heavy misfortunes. Now, tell me, does she not put herself under great restraint when I am with her?”
“Well, sir, she certainly do seem much more composeder when you are here nor she do at any other time. I think, howsoever, that’s partly because she do feel it to be a comfort and a support to her like to have you along with her; and partly because she do try to keep down her feelings for fear of hurting yours. Leastways, I know she don’t give way to ’em as she does at other times,” answered Mrs. Barton, thoughtfully.
“How is she at other times?” inquired Mr. Montrose, anxiously.
“Why, sir, wariable, wery much so indeed; for sometimes she will be quiet enough for hours and hours together; and then, maybe, something will happen to bring her doom afore her all on a suddint—and she’ll scream, and clap her hands over her eyes, and fall to shaking as if she wer’ tuk with an agur fit. And when that’s over, she’ll turn on her face, and not move nor speak for hours and hours more.”
Malcolm groaned with anguish.
“And sometimes, sir—and that hurts my heart worse nor all the rest—when she will be lying quite calm, she’ll put her finger and thumb around her throat and press it, and then quickly drop her hand and scream with terror, and fall into another shaking agur fit.”
Another involuntary groan burst from the overcharged breast of Malcolm, while Mrs. Barton continued:
“But, lor, sir! what could you expect from such a mere child as she is, with such a fate afore her? Why, sir, I’ve been in service here this twenty year, and I’ve seen the most strongest and hardenest of men as ever was, have their hair turn grey with the thoughts of what was afore them, between the day of conviction and the day of execution. So what could you expect of a poor, tender girl, with the scaffold staring her in the face? I wonder she isn’t dead already, for my part; and I am sure I think it would be a mercy and a blessing if she was.”
“It would, indeed,” muttered Malcolm.