Yielding to her impulse, he went with her down a street, not knowing where to take her, or where to go himself, save that she kept muttering that he was to ‘take her from the water,’ and that the horror of the water seemed to accompany them—the river with its darkness, and streams of quivering light, its black foundry arch, and dark, strange swarm of men. He paused at length, however, in a dimly-lighted street, and attempted to gather his strength and speak to her; his voice sounded hoarse and horrible to himself, he had never imagined it could have such a sound. But, although he was almost unnerved by the tightening clutch of her fingers, he was able at least to say a few words audibly. ‘Tell me what I am to do, Miss Tina, tell me what I am to do. I will take you wherever you like. Where must I go.’
Tina only muttered, ‘Take me away from the river-side. I cannot bear it. Take me right away from it.’
He saw that she was not in a condition to be still, and moving again, went with her down the street, the horrible throbbings of his heart and limbs becoming in some degree less overpowering as he moved. The street was dimly lighted; there were not many people; no one seemed to pay any attention to them. They crossed it, and turned into another that was smaller, darker, with a long dark line of wall on one side of it; it was close to the railway, and he could hear the rush of some distant train going onwards through the night. He made for the wall, scarcely knowing why he did so, and leant against it, whilst she clung by his side. It was dark there, and silent, and no light shone upon them; the street was deserted, there were no passers-by.
‘Well, are you satisfied?’ cried Tina, springing from him, and yet clutching the front of his jacket with her hands. ‘You have killed my brother. I have seen it. He is dead. Are you satisfied now? Have you had your will with us?’
He could feel the clutch of her fingers on his jacket, as he had been feeling their grasp upon his arm; the thrill seemed to stir him from his head to his feet, and to take away from him all power to answer her. But she wished for no answer, her voice went on speaking rapidly, its wild tone quivering like a cry that is suppressed.
‘Do you know what has happened to me?’ she said quickly, with a laugh. ‘I’ve been turned off this evening from my uncle’s house. Dismissed like a beggar! He would not even see me. He says I may go to London, and amuse myself there again. Ha! ha! I’ll shame him,’ cried Tina, as she ground her teeth together. ‘I’ll let no one forget that I am his sister’s child.’
Her terrible passion, her wild eyes, grinding teeth, would have been dreadful enough under any circumstances—they were unspeakably horrible with her brother’s death so recent, uttered with such vehemence in the dark, silent night. Nat tried to speak, but his faltered words, ‘Miss Tina,’ were swept away almost before he had uttered them. And still she kept clinging and clutching at his jacket, as if but for its support she would have fallen on the ground.
‘Ha! ha! I’ll shame him, see if I don’t,’ cried Tina. ‘I’ll do harm to him, and I’ll do injury to you! It was your mother came to the house this evening, and was clever enough to bring us all to ruin. You haven’t spared me. You have told about the letter. I couldn’t expect that you would be good to me. I’ll hurt you. I will. You have brought us to destruction. My brother is dead .... he is dead .... and you shall die!’
‘Miss Tina,’ cried Nat, and his breath was lost in sobs. That seemed to startle her; for a moment she was quiet. Seizing on that instant, he wrestled with his agitation so as just to be able to speak—he could do no more than that.
‘Before God, Miss Tina, I’ve done no harm to thee. I’ve not said a word o’ ye, not to t’ Squire. If my mother knew anything as she’ve told to your uncle, I don’t know who she knew it from—it’s not from me. I’ve been beaten and shamed. I’ve been turned out from my place. They say I’ve stole money. I don’t know the rights of it. I went down to t’ river to-night to drown mysel’. There isn’t no hope in all t’ world for me. But I can’t bear to see ye .... so alone .... so left alone ....’ the sobs caught his breath, so that he could scarcely speak .... ‘I’ve got three shillen .... if ye will take ’em from me ... it’ll be the last thing as I can do for ye.’