And that night, as the vans went jolting along the road, the convict slept calmly, a free man for the first time for six long years, and he dreamed that his wife was sitting by his side.
When they halted for the night the horses were taken out. The convict awoke with a start.
‘Where am I, Bess?’ he exclaimed.
‘You’re all right,’ answered Mrs. Jarvis cheerily. ‘You stop where you are. Nobody won’t interfere with you.’
‘So his wife’s name’s Bess, is it?’ thought the good lady to herself. ‘It’s a purty name. It’s the name o’ our lodger, Mrs. Smith, as has been so good to Shakspeare. Lor’, how I do long to give that there boy a good motherly hug—bless him!’
Then she walked across to the snug corner where the convict lay.
‘Poor chap!’ she muttered; ‘I hope he’ll find his wife alive., He don’t look a bit like a convict, and I believe as he’s quite as hinnercent as he makes out. If faces goes for anything, I should say he was a born gentleman.’
CHAPTER LIII.
SHAKSPEARE’S NURSE.
In a little back room in a street running off the Lambeth Road, a lad of about sixteen lay on the sofa, wheeled near the window so that he might see out into the street.
By his side, busily plying her needle and thread, sat a young woman whose thin hands and haggard cheeks told their own story of mental torture and bodily suffering.