“Perhaps you may know through Donald where it is?”
I watched her face, which was now pale. She began to think, and she did think; for if ever thought came out of a face, it might have been read in the point of her nose, sharpened by the collapse of the muscles through fear.
If in this agony she sat a minute, she sat fully five; but I was patient. I turned my face from her, and looked at nothing, perhaps because my mind was directed to something. She was under a struggle; I heard the signs,—the quick breath, the heaving chest, the sobs, the efforts to suppress them,—still I was patient and pitiful. Sad duties ours! Yes, we must steel ourselves against human woes; nay, we must turn nature’s yearnings to the advantage of official selfishness. At length,
“Are you sure the newspapers will be scored aff?”
“Sure.”
And then another sinking into the battle of her thoughts,—the lips quivering, the desultory movements of the hands, the jerking from one position to the other,—at length calmness—the calmness of one whose agony is over,—a rest of many minutes.
“And you’re sure,” she said again, as she fixed her eyes upon me, with such speech in them that my soul revolted at its very wickedness. Must I admit it? Yes, it is put upon us. A lie is one thing, the keeping deep down in our hearts the truth another. The one I abhor, the other is a duty. I knew that the money, if produced, would form a charge in place of the newspapers. I knew she didn’t think this; but I knew also I was not bound to tell her that she was wrong in not thinking it. Nay, there are worse cases than mine, that may be and are justified every day. When robbers are at the window, and you cry, “Bring me the gun,” when there is no gun in the house, you lie; but you are not bound to tell men whose hands are at your throat that you lie. There are necessities that go beyond all moral codes, and laugh at them. If this woman knew where that stolen money was, she was, by her own doing, under the sharp consequences of that necessity, and must abide the result as an atonement for an act not perpetrated under that necessity. Behold my logic! I am at the mercy of the public.
These were not my thoughts at the time; my conduct was merely the effect of them, and I was simply watchful. At length Mrs M‘Leod rose from the chair,—she stood for a moment firm,—she then went into a closet, where, having remained a little, she came forth, to my astonishment, changed; she was dressed—shawl, bonnet, and veil.
“Come with me,” she said in a low voice, sorrowful, but without a tremor.
I said nothing, only obeyed. She shut the door, and proceeding down the stair, beckoned me to follow her. Not a word was spoken. We got down to the foot of the stair, then to the street, and I followed her as she led. We proceeded in this silent way until we came to Frederick Street. We then went along that street till she came to the area gate of a gentleman’s house; that gate she opened, and going down the stair, she again beckoned me to follow her. We now stood before the kitchen-door, at which she rapped. The knock was obeyed, and a young woman made her appearance.