The visitor’s hand still rested upon the other’s breast, and she was about to speak, when an impatient shuffle startled both, for it seemed that Mr Jarker was about to descend; but he came not. And now a look of ineffable sweetness and content came over the well-moulded features of the visitor. She was satisfied now respecting the step she was about to take; for Mrs Jarker’s heart had been laid open to her. A true chord of sympathy existed between them, and she could feel that her little one would be taken to a motherly breast, and protected—protected; but who, she asked herself, would injure one so tender and frail?
But there was no time for further communion between these motherly hearts, for a loud rasp on the ladder told that Mr Jarker was descending, and the visitor prepared to leave.
“You’ve been a-pipin’ again,” growled Mr Jarker to his wife, who had hastily concealed the boots—“pipin’ about that ’ere kid as has gone; and a good thing too. Wot’s the good when here’s another a-coming?” and he looked menacingly at the shivering woman. “I say,” he continued to the visitor, who now stood at the door, “you’ll pay up reg’lar, and in advance!”
“Yes, yes!” she said hoarsely, almost fiercely, as she turned to him with a steady contemptuous look, which made the great brute shuffle about uneasily—“yes, yes, so long as I live;” and the next moment the door closed upon her retreating form.
“Long as you live? Yes; I should just think you will, or else there’ll precious soon be a kid found at somebody’s door, with the perlice, cuss ’em, taking the brat to the workus.—And don’t you pipe no more,” he snarled to the trembling woman, who slowly retreated to the washtub. “A taking of it to the workus, cuss ’em,” muttered Mr Jarker again, removing his fur cap and passing his hand over his cropped head, as if the name of the police, and their probable future duty, had reminded him of former injuries. “Now then, you!” he shouted, as if calling his dog, and he threw the shilling upon the table—“d’yer hear?”
“Yes, Bill,” said the woman meekly, and hastily passing her hands over her dull red eyes before she turned to him the face from which all that was attractive had long since fled.
“Tripe!” said Mr Jarker.
“Yes, Bill,” said his wife.
“Pipe and screw,” growled Mr Jarker.
“Yes, Bill,” said the woman, hurriedly tying on a miserable bonnet.