All that evening two pictures kept rising in her mind. One was of the priest with the smiling face talking to the potato-diggers; the other was the picture of the young girl with the clear skin and the beautiful eyes putting the rosary, with the shiny cross at the end of it, into her pocket.
CHAPTER XXXII
CONFESSION
I
A week passed; the hour was twelve o’clock on a Saturday night. The clocks were striking midnight but the streets were still crowded with people. A boat could be heard hooting on the Broomielaw; a train whistling at Enoch Street station. A woman came along a narrow lane on the Cowcaddens, shouldering her way amongst the people, and abusing in no polite terms those who obstructed her way. She wore a shawl almost torn to shreds and she staggered a little as she walked. Her features were far from prepossessing; dry hacks dented her cheeks and brow; her lips were rough and almost bloodless and wisps of draggled hair hung over her face. As she walked along she broke into snatches of song from time to time.
Under the gaslight staring eyes set in sickly or swarthy faces glared at her; rude remarks and meaningless jokes were made; sounds of laughter rose, echoed and died away. Suddenly a noise, loud as a rising gale, swept through the lane; a man hurried past and rushed along the streets, a young girl followed. The crowd, as if actuated by one common impulse, scurried past the woman, yelling and shrieking. A drunken man stared stupidly after the mob, then fell like a wet sack to the pavement; a labourer struck against the prostrate body; fell, and rose cursing. A whistle was blown. “The slops! the slops!” a ragged youth shouted, and a hundred voices took up the cry. “Run! Run!” others roared.... A little toddling child stood on the pavement crying, one finger in its mouth and its big curious eyes fixed on the rabble.
“What are ye greetin’ for?” asked the woman in the ragged shawl. “Have ye lost yerself?”
“I want me mither!” wailed the child.
“Ye’re here, are ye?” cried a stout, brazen-faced woman, ambling up and seizing the infant, who was trying to chew a penny which the stranger had just given it. “It’s a lass that’s fainted on the pavement,” explained the mother, pointing to the crowd. “I think the corner boys, rascals that they are, were playin’ tricks on her.”
“That’s always the way with people,” said the strange woman. “See and don’t let the child swallow the bawbee.”
With these words she hurried into the press of people, the corners of her shawl fluttering round her. A group of ragged men and women stood on the pavement, chattering noisily. Against the wall a frail form was propped up between two young girls, one of whom had a frightened look on her face; the other was smiling and chewing an orange. A man, lighting a pipe and sheltering the match under the palm of his hand, made some suggestion as to what should be done, but nobody paid any heed.