“What’s the good of that?” asked Ned, roughly. “You’ve done no harm, and we’ve nothing to do with you, except that we’re going to set you free from a rascal.”
Abel Squires had withdrawn to the farthest window, and tried to hide himself behind the curtain. Rough fellow as he was, to hear a man speak in a bullying tone to that beautiful, dignified lady was too much for him.
Mrs. Brander had never in her life before looked so handsome as she looked now, standing erect before this coarse man, with a flush of deep humiliation in her cheeks, and passionate entreaty softening her proud eyes.
“But, my children, my poor children: they have done less harm in the world than your sister did, and if you hurt my husband you sacrifice them. Think of that. You have children of your own. You don’t dote on them passionately any more than I do on mine; therefore you can enter into my feelings. Is it fair, is it just, that they should suffer? I don’t appeal for myself, for you don’t like me. But just think of this: for ten years I have been a dutiful wife to this man, who was unfaithful to me even in my fresh youth, when I was beautiful, so they said, and loving, and devoted. Listen. I knew of the murder on the night he committed it; for he came straight back with stained hands, and a face I never shall forget. Do you not think that was something to forgive? But I did it, and I implore you to do it too. I am not asking you an impossible thing, for I have done it myself. And think under what circumstances!”
But Ned remained as hard as nails.
“I suppose—no offence to you, madam—your motives were not entirely unselfish; and even if they were, that’s no business of mine. If you chose to put up with him, that was your lookout. I came back here to punish my sister’s murderer, and I’m not going to be made a fool of by a woman when the game’s in my own hands.”
Ned spoke the more harshly, that he was really rather touched by her beauty and her high spirit. There was something in her frank, straightforward manner of pleading more to his taste than any amount of tearful, hysterical incoherence would have been. But Mrs. Brander had a most unexpected ally near at hand. Thumpety-thump came Abel Squires, with his wooden leg, out of his hiding place. He did not look at the lady, but going straight up to Ned, jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of where she was standing.
“Hold hard, Mester Mitchell,” said he, without moving a muscle of his dried-up face; “Ah didn’t bargain fur this when Ah coom here to-day. A woman’s a woman. An’ t’ woman ye’re so soft abaht’s dead, but t’ woman ye’re so hard on’s alive. Steady theer, Mester Mitchell, or Ah’ll hev to swear Ah killed t’ lass mysen.”
The poor woman broke down at these words from the rough tramp; she turned away abruptly to hide the tears which sprang to her eyes. Ned, who was hard, brusque, and determined, but not inhuman, moved uneasily about the room.
“Women have no business to interfere in these matters,” said he, angrily.