At length Celia decided to go home as quickly as she could for the pony-chaise, leaving her friend to stay with the child. This she accordingly did, and in less than twenty minutes was back again with the conveyance.
The coachman gingerly covered the little girl with an overall belonging to the stable-boy, and lifted her into the chaise. Celia had brought some lint back with her, and between them the two girls skilfully bound up her wounds, which were not so severe as they had at first supposed. When they arrived at the Towers, a messenger was immediately despatched to inform Mrs. Horwitz of the accident, and to procure a change of clothing for Blume. Meanwhile the child’s wants were attended to in Celia’s pretty bedroom.
An hour later, the coachman, Roberts, drove her home; clean, comfortable, and well-fed. He found the cottage shut up, for Mrs. Horwitz was always out at that time of the day; but a man was waiting at the wicket in anticipation of Blume’s arrival. Possessing small cunning eyes with an unpleasant leer in them, an aquiline nose, heavy jaw, and cruel mouth, his countenance was decidedly unattractive; and his burly form suggested an ample reserve of brute force. He was Anna’s husband, Jacob Strelitzki, who had recently returned after a year’s absence from the factory, spent no one knew where. Roberts pulled up at the wicket, and alighting from the chaise, eyed the man with disfavour.
“Hello!” he said bluntly. “Strelitzki, is it? Thought I’d seen that ugly face before. So you’ve come back, have you? Been in quod, I suppose? Lost your curly wig, anyhow. Where is this kid’s mother?”
If looks could kill, the coachman would have been exterminated on the spot. Scowling savagely, Strelitzki bade him hold his tongue, for the child had fallen asleep, and he did not wish her to be awakened. With more gentleness than was his custom, he lifted her out of the chaise, and, unlocking the cottage door, laid her carefully down on the couch.
Then he returned to the wicket, and informed the coachman that he might consider himself dismissed. Roberts, however, was apparently not quite satisfied.
“’Ere, where’s the kid’s mother?” he asked again. “My mistress said I was to see that the little girl was all right. She has cut her foot, and has got to lay up. You ain’t any relation, are you?”
“Yes; I am her uncle,” the man replied briefly. “Rachael Horwitz has told me all about the accident. She ought not to have sent such a little thing so far on an errand. She’s got slipper-work at the factory, so you’ll have to leave the child with me.” And without further remark, Roberts drove away.
Strelitzki bolted the door after him, and quietly moved to where the child lay. She was still fast asleep, but stirred uneasily as he watched her. Fearing that the light might awaken her, Jacob carefully shut the lattice. His movement suggested mystery; but all his caution was for the purpose of performing an apparently trivial action.
Taking a small packet out of his coat-pocket, he cut the string and unfolded the tissue-paper. Inside lay a tiny crucifix composed of black wood and nickel silver—truly a strange emblem to be in his possession.