Mary did not reply, but wept more.
“Mary, if your brother is in distress, I certainly will not refuse your going to him; but you should tell me what his distress is, or how shall I be able to advise or help you? Is it very serious?”
“He is in prison, madam.”
“In prison for debt, I suppose?”
“No, madam; on a charge of murder, which he is not guilty of.”
“Murder!” exclaimed Mrs Austin, “and not guilty! Why—when—and where did this murder take place?”
“Many years ago, madam, when he was quite a child.”
“How very strange!” thought Mrs Austin, panting, for breath, and dropping into a chair. “But where, Mary?”
“Down in Devonshire, madam, at Grassford.”
Mrs Austin fell senseless from her chair. Mary, very much surprised, hastened to her assistance, and, after a time succeeded in restoring her, and leading her to the sofa. For some time Mrs Austin remained with her face buried in the cushions, while Mary stood over her. At last Mrs Austin looked up, and laying her head upon Mary’s arm, said in a solemn tone—