Edmund could not help wondering at the quaint suggestions, which, to his less imaginative nature, seemed even extravagant; but when was enthusiasm ever less than extravagant, and when was it more meet than in this case of a glorious, God-ordained death?
After a pause, Grace resumed:
"If I had known this sooner, I should have gone to Drake's parents. I shall go now. You watch while I am away."
And before Edmund could speak, she was gone.
They were sitting over the embers of a mere apology for a fire, these two forsaken cripples, with the little, starveling children cuddled together like frightened rabbits at their feet. When the door opened, and Grace appeared, pale and worn, they shivered, and leaned one upon the other, as if they would gladly have fled from her, had they been able. They were dumb, and seemed to have no instinct but fear within their bosoms. The children stared with great round eyes, and crept further away. Grace went up, and knelt down before the old couple, taking the woman's fingers in her own, and saying softly:
"You are not afraid of me? Did you think I was angry? I have come to tell you I am not, and he would not be, could he speak to you. Won't you say something to me?"
The old woman said something, but her teeth chattered so it was unintelligible. The old man gave a feeble, idiotic laugh, and, for the moment, Grace was startled. But she soon saw that horror had turned his brain, and that he was now beyond the possibility of suffering. His wife seemed verging on the same state. Grace took out some money, and put it into the poor old crone's hand. "You shall live on here, just as usual," she said. "I will help you; never mind. Take care of your husband, and remember I am not angry with you."
The old woman mumbled something under her breath, but appeared quite stupefied yet. "God bless you!" said Grace sadly, turning from this unsatisfactory couple, and going gently up to the children.
"Can you tell me where Eldridge lived?" she said. "And if he has a family?"
The children, also, seemed deaf and dumb for a time; but at last the promise of a silver piece drew forth from the recesses of their memory the address of Eldridge's wife. It was not far off. Grace left the hovel, and took her way down courts and by-streets till she reached the house where the murderer's wife lived. Up many stairs, and through many passages, inquiring her way, Grace went, and at last knocked at the right door. Only a sound of sobbing was heard within. She said to herself, "This is no hardened woman;" and at once her resolve was formed. She gently opened the door; a woman sat by the dingy window, her head buried in her hands, and bent down to her knees. She rocked herself to and fro, and moaned at regular intervals. A child lay in a cradle near her, but she did not heed it. The bed stood at one end of the room, tossed and untidy; the poor little utensils of the wretched home were flung about in disorder, and some dark stains on the deal table gave out a strong, sickening odor.