‘No, Jasper—a delight.’
He stooped and kissed her hand. Little or nothing had passed between them, yet they understood each other.
‘Hist! for shame!’ said a sharp voice through the garden window. She looked and saw the queer face of Watt.
‘That is too cruel, Jasp—love-making when our poor Martin is in danger! I did not expect it of you.’
Barbara was confused. The boy’s face could ill be discerned, as there was no candle in the room, and all the light, such as there was—a silvery summer twilight—flowed in at the window, and was intercepted by his head.
‘Selfish, Jasp! and you, miss—if you are going to enter the family, you should begin to consider other members than Jasper,’ continued the boy. All his usual mockery was gone from his voice, which expressed alarm and anxiety. ‘There lies poor Martin in a stone box, on a little straw, without a mouthful, and his keepers are given what they like!’
‘Oh, Jasper!’ said Barbara with a start, ‘I am so ashamed of myself. I forgot to provide for him.’
‘You have not considered, I presume, what will become of poor Martin. In self-defence he shot at a warder, and whether he wounded or killed him I cannot say. Poor Martin! Seven years will be spread into fourteen, perhaps twenty-one. What will he be when he comes out of prison! What shall I do all these years without him!’
‘Walter,’ said Jasper, going to the window, and speaking in a subdued voice, ‘what can be done? I am sorry enough for him, but I can do nothing.’
‘Oh, you will not try.’