“That is exactly what Joey said to me, madam,” observed Mary, “and, moreover, that he never would reveal it, even if he were on his trial.”
“I do not think that he ever will, Mary,” rejoined Mrs Austin, bursting into tears. “Poor boy! it is horrible that he should suffer for an offence that he has not committed.”
“Surely, madam, if he is found guilty they will not hang him, he was such a child.”
“I scarcely know.”
“It’s very odd that his father and mother have disappeared in the manner they did; I think it is very suspicious,” observed Mary.
“You must, of course, have your own ideas from what you have already heard,” replied Mrs Austin, in a calm tone; “but, as I have already said, my lips on that subject are sealed. What I wish you to do, Mary, is not at first to let him know that I am interested about him, or even that I know anything about him. Make all the inquiries you can as to what is likely to be the issue of the affair, and, when you have seen him, you must then come back and tell me all that he says, and all that has taken place.”
“I will, madam.”
“You had better go away early tomorrow; one of the grooms shall drive you over to meet the coach which runs to Exeter. While I think of it, take my purse, and do not spare it, Mary; for money must not be thought of now. I am very unwell, and must go to bed.”
“I had better bring up the tray, madam; a mouthful and a glass of wine will be of service to you.”
“Do so, dear Mary; I feel very faint.”