“It is the will of God that I should be in this strait, Mary; and now let us not renew the subject.”
“But, Joey, Mr Trevor is coming here to-morrow; and he told me to tell you that you must have no reservation with your lawyer, if you wish him to be of service to you.”
“You have given your message, Mary; and now you must leave me to deal with him.”
“My heart is breaking,” said Mary, solemnly. “I wish I were in my grave if that wish is not wicked.”
“Mary, recollect one thing;—recollect it supports me, and let it support you;—I am innocent.”
“You are, I’m sure; would to Heaven that I could say the same for another! But tell me, Joey, what shall I do when I meet your mother? I loved her before; but, oh! how much I love her now! What shall I do? Shall I tell her that I have discovered all? I do not know how I can keep it from her.”
“Mary, I see no objection to your telling her, but tell her also that I will not see her till after my trial; whatever my fate may be, I should like to see her after that is decided.”
“I will take your message the day after to-morrow,” replied Mary; “now I must go and look out for lodgings, and then write to your mother. Bless you!”
Mary quitted the cell; she had suffered so much that she could hardly gain the gaoler’s parlour, where she sat down to recover herself. She inquired of the gaoler’s wife if she could procure apartments near the prison, and the woman requested one of the turnkeys to take her to a lodging which would be suitable. As soon as Mary was located, she wrote a letter to Mrs Austin, informing her of her having seen the lawyer, and that his services were secured; and then, worn out with the anxiety and excitement of the three last days, she retired to bed, and in her sleep forgot her sufferings.