‘Not he,’ said Mr. Budd, nodding to Dempster as he passed; ‘he’s got nine lives, Dempster has.’
Chapter 18
It was dusk, and the candles were lighted before Mr. Tryan knocked at Mrs. Pettifer’s door. Her messenger had brought back word that he was not at home, and all afternoon Janet had been agitated by the fear that he would not come; but as soon as that anxiety was removed by the knock at the door, she felt a sudden rush of doubt and timidity: she trembled and turned cold.
Mrs. Pettifer went to open the door, and told Mr. Tryan, in as few words as possible, what had happened in the night. As he laid down his hat and prepared to enter the parlour, she said, ‘I won’t go in with you, for I think perhaps she would rather see you go in alone.’
Janet, wrapped up in a large white shawl which threw her dark face into startling relief, was seated with her eyes turned anxiously towards the door when Mr. Tryan entered. He had not seen her since their interview at Sally Martin’s long months ago; and he felt a strong movement of compassion at the sight of the pain-stricken face which seemed to bear written on it the signs of all Janet’s intervening misery. Her heart gave a great leap, as her eyes met his once more. No! she had not deceived herself: there was all the sincerity, all the sadness, all the deep pity in them her memory had told her of; more than it had told her, for in proportion as his face had become thinner and more worn, his eyes appeared to have gathered intensity.
He came forward, and, putting out his hand, said, ‘I am so glad you sent for me—I am so thankful you thought I could be any comfort to you.’ Janet took his hand in silence. She was unable to utter any words of mere politeness, or even of gratitude; her heart was too full of other words that had welled up the moment she met his pitying glance, and felt her doubts fall away.
They sat down opposite each other, and she said in a low voice, while slow difficult tears gathered in her aching eyes,—‘I want to tell you how unhappy I am—how weak and wicked. I feel no strength to live or die. I thought you could tell me something that would help me.’ She paused.
‘Perhaps I can,’ Mr. Tryan said, ‘for in speaking to me you are speaking to a fellow-sinner who has needed just the comfort and help you are needing.’
‘And you did find it?’
‘Yes; and I trust you will find it.’