Stowell was silent. The old woman cried softly to herself for a moment and then said,
"Nobody knows what that is, your Honour, except them that has gone through it."
Then she wiped her eyes, one after another, and said she could not sleep "a wink on the night," lying in her white bed and thinking of Bessie where she was now. And having read "in class" last evening how the Lord heard the cry of Hagar for her son in the wilderness she had thought his Honour might hear her cry for her daughter.
Stowell knew that his feelings as a man were getting the better of his duty as a Judge, so he tried to be severe with the old woman, telling her she had no right to come to him, and that he had done wrong to listen to her.
"In fact I could not have received you at all but for one thing—I am not going to try your daughter's case."
The old woman was appalled.
"Do you mean, Sir, that you'll not be trying Bessie?"
"No, Deemster Taubman will probably do so."
At that the old woman broke into a flood of tears.
"Aw dear! Aw dear! And me praying on my knees on the kitchen floor that the Lord would bring you back in time from London—someones being so hard on poor girls in trouble!"