this touching sight; she had not been able to speak or interfere, but at the appearance of Darrell she recovered herself. “Doctor,” she said, going up to him, “you know what our orders are, you know he’ll hurt himself by this, you know it’s for his good—for his good. What were we put here for but for his good? And who is this lady that has ventured to interfere? Doctor, call Turner, call the man, and take him back. I order you,” cried the woman, “in my mistress’s name, take him back. Sir, sir, Mr. Prescott! take the child from him, take him back.”
No one paid any attention to her cries, and the woman was almost beside herself. “Miss Hofland,” she said, “it’s as much as our places are worth. You said yourself it was a comfortable house. Oh, for goodness’ sake take the child from him, take the child from him! Don’t you know he’s off his head? I’ve got my mistress’s authority. Turner—doctor—this moment, he must be taken back!”
Little Rhoda here released herself from her father’s arms. She put herself before him like a guardian spirit, not angel, for her eyes flashed fire, and her little hands clenched. “If you touch him I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” cried the little girl, setting her white teeth.
“Mrs. Mills,” said Mary, “the time for all that is over; I am here to protect my cousin. Whatever your mistress may do or say, I am his nearest relation here. We can take care of Mr. Prescott without you; he shall neither be shut up nor coerced again. Doctor, he knows us all; he only wants his child; he is as gentle as an infant. Why should he be shut up and banished from the light of day?”
“There is no reason at all,” young Darrell said. “I am ashamed of my part in it. It was I who opened the door to him to-night; I hoped that this would happen which has happened. I don’t know if you will ever believe that I acted at first in good faith. There is no reason, no reason at all, for keeping him confined now.”
John Prescott sat holding his child with one arm round her, looking out solemnly upon the group about him. There was something in the aspect of his large immovable eyes, showing that he saw imperfectly if at all, which strangely heightened the effect of the scene. He put out his other arm as if feeling for some one. “Mary, Mary! Wasn’t Mary here?”
She came up to him and took his hand. “Yes, John, I am here, I am here: nobody shall touch you. They daren’t touch you while I am here.”
It was the second time in twenty-four hours that she had brought peace and security by these words—she, a helpless woman, the poor parson’s wife, never of much account in the world—and yet they were true! But probably John Prescott did not make any question to himself how that was, or even understand clearly what she was doing for him. He grasped her hand, making no reply to what she said. “Mary,” he said slowly, “I want your advice.”
“Yes, John.”
“Mutht a man do all his wife says? She’s clever, and I’m not. I never was one of the clever fellowths. She’s gone away, and I promithed— But, Mary, I want my little girl.”