One night, as Jem was leaving the foundry, a woman laid her hand upon his arm. A momentary glance at the faded finery she wore told him the class to which she belonged, and he made an effort to pass on. But she grasped him firmly.
"You must listen to me, Jem Wilson," she said, "for Mary Barton's sake."
"And who can you be to know Mary Barton?" he exclaimed.
"Do you remember Esther, Mary's aunt?"
'"Yes, I mind her well." He looked into her face. "Why, Esther! Where have ye been this many a year?"
She answered with fierce earnestness, "Where have I been? What have I been doing? Can you not guess? See after Mary, and take care she does not become like me. As she is loving now, so did I love once--one above me, far."
Jem cut her short with his hoarse, stern inquiry, "Who is this spark that Mary loves?"
"It's old Carson's son." Then, after a pause, she continued, "Oh, Jem, I charge you with the care of her! Her father won't listen to me." She cried a little at the recollection of John Barton's harsh words when she had timidly tried to approach him. "It would be better for her to die than to live to lead such a life as I do!"
"It would be better," said Jem, as if thinking aloud. Then he went on. "Esther, you may trust to my doing all I can for Mary. And now, listen. Come home with me. Come to my mother."
"God bless you, Jem!" she replied. "But it is too late now--too late!"