“Mother,” he panted, in a voice that trembled with grief and passion, “I’ve left it to you to train our girl while I earned—no, tried to earn—the bread; and it’s been my pride through it all to hold up my head and point to our Jessie, and say to folks, ‘Look at her—she’s not like the rest as go to the warehouse for work.’”
“But, Dick—dear Dick, don’t, pray don’t judge hastily,” cried Mrs Shingle.
“I won’t,” said Dick hoarsely. “All I say is there was a man out there, and she was talking to him on the sly. Is that right, Hopper? I say, is that right?”
The old man looked at him vacantly, and seemed not to hear.
“Curse him! whoever he was,” cried Dick hoarsely; “he was ashamed to meet me. It was Tom Fraser, I’ll swear; and he’s not the man I thought him. Here,” he cried, swinging open the door that led upstairs, “Jessie—Jessie, come down! Hopper, old man, you’re like one of us—you needn’t go.”
The visitor, with a sorrowful look upon his face, had already reached the door, where he stood, leaning upon his stick, as Jessie slowly descended, looking very pale, and glancing anxiously from one to the other.
Mrs Shingle was crossing—mother-like—to her child’s side; but Dick motioned her back.
“Stop there!” he said fiercely; and then, taking a step forward—“Jessie, you were talking to some one outer window just now?”
She did not answer for a moment, but gazed at him in a frightened way.
“I say you were talking to some one outer window?”