Mrs. Tingsby locked her hands together. “I like your face, sir. There has been people fancyin’ the child, but I didn’t fancy ’em.”
Judge Sancroft smiled faintly. Then his hand went toward his pocket.
The little woman’s face flushed crimson. “I’m no beggar, sir. I’ve no wish for money I can’t earn.” The Judge put out a hand and took hers. “Titus, shake hands with her,” he said.
“G-g-grandfather,” ejaculated the boy as they stepped over the threshold of the door leading into the little dark hall, “look at her!”
Mrs. Tingsby stood holding the small lamp aloft for them, with tears running down her cheeks, and a painful, almost terrified, expression in her eyes.
“I’ve told a dead woman’s secret, sir,” she said in response to the Judge’s look of inquiry. “I’ve risked me soul, an’ it aint done no good.”
The woman’s expression of suffering was so genuine that the Judge stopped short. How cruel to lay another burden on this already overburdened back!
She was an honest woman, he could see that. He had had a long experience in the study of human nature, and she would not have been able to deceive him if she had wished. Suppose he took the child from her. With his connections and influence he could easily find a home for it.
“Madam,” he said, courteously, and stepping back, “this is Christmas Eve, and from my heart I wish you good cheer. If it will give you pleasure, I am willing to take the child, and to pledge myself to find a good home for him.”
The woman again twitched Titus by the sleeve. She had partly, but not wholly, understood.