“What care I for the law? What’s it done for either me or Jessie? I’ll have no pauper funeral, law or no law.”
“There won’t be a pauper funeral. There are kind hearts in London, as well as in the North. Promise me you’ll do nothing until I see if I can get the money.”
“I promise,” said Braunt, sinking into his chair. “I doubt if I could walk far to-night, even if I tried. But leave me now, lad, and come back again later. I want to be alone and think.”
Langly left the room, and on the landing met Marsten, whom he did not know, but who he saw was about to enter.
“Don’t go in,” he whispered. “He wants to be alone.”
“Is there anything wrong?” asked Marsten, alarmed at the tone of the other.
“Yes, his daughter is dead.”
“Dead! Good God! How? An accident?”
“No. She has been ill for weeks, but no one thought of this. Jessie died about an hour since—unexpectedly. Are you a friend of his?”
“Yes.”