“You’re—you’re a good woman,” said Hallett hoarsely, “and may God bless you. But your husband—where is your husband? We must lose no time.”
“Master Antony?” cried Mary, and then, as if awakening once more to her position, and speaking in tones of bitterness—“Oh, what has come to my William? He must be found!”
“Send him on to me,” said Hallett. “I’ll go back now. Antony, will you come?”
“Why, there’s your poor mother, too,” cried Mary, “and all alone! I can help her, at all events!”
As Mary spoke, she hurried to get her work-a-day bonnet and shawl, while Hallett stood gazing at her in a dazed and helpless way.
“Your pore sister did come and help my pore boy when he was bad, and—Oh!”
Mary uttered a fierce, angry cry. Bonnet and shawl fell from her hands, her jaw dropped, her ruddy face grew mottled with patches of white, and her eyes dilated. Her whole aspect was that of one about to have a fit, and I took a step towards her.
She motioned me fiercely back, and tore at her throat, as if she were suffocating.
“I see it now!” she cried hoarsely, “I see it now! Oh, the wretch, the wretch! Only let me find him again!”
“Mary!” I cried, “what is it?”