“They treat ye harsh, Miss Janice,” he remarked sympathetically; “but ’t is an unforgiving world, as I have good cause to wot.”
Janice, who had stooped lower over the patches when first he spoke, flashed her eyes up for an instant, and then dropped them again.
“And one is blamed and punished for much that deserves it not. I’ faith, I know one man who stands disgraced to the woman he loves best, for no better cause than that the depth of his passion was so boundless that he went to every length to gain her.”
The quilter fitted a red calimanco patch in place, and studied the effect with intense interest.
“Wouldst like me to carry a message to the prisoner, Miss Janice?”
“Oh, will you?” murmured the girl, gratefully and eagerly. “Wilt tell him that I knew nothing of the plan to capture him, and was only trying to aid his escape? That, after all his kindness, I would never—”
Here the eager flow of words received a check by the re-entrance of Mrs. Meredith. Dropping his hand upon the quilting-frame so that it covered one of the girl’s, the commissary conveyed by a slight pressure a pledge of fulfilment of her wish, and, after a few moments’ passing chat, left the room. Before a lapse of ten minutes he returned, and took a chair near the girl.
Glancing at her mother, to see if her eyes wandered from the sock she was resoling, Janice raised her eyebrows with furtive inquiry. In answer the baron shook his head.
“’T is a curious commentary on man, “he observed thoughtfully, “that he always looks on the black side of his fellow-creatures, and will not believe that they can be honest and truthful.”
“Man is born in sin,” responded Mrs. Meredith. “Janice, that last patch is misplaced; pay heed to thy work.”