The woman stopped him by pointing suddenly to the child.
She had put back the handkerchief, and was approaching him. She came close and laid one hand on his knee, and timidly raised the other as high as she could towards his neck. Standing so, she looked up quietly into his face. The pretty lips tried hard to smile once more; but they only trembled for an instant, and then closed again. The clear, soft eyes, still dim with tears, sought his with an innocent gaze of inquiry and wonder. At that moment, the expression of the sad and lovely little face seemed to say—“You look as if you wanted to be kind to me; I wish you could find out some way of telling me of it.”
Valentine’s heart told him what was the only way. He caught her up in his arms, and half smothered her with kisses. The frail, childish hands rose trembling, and clasped themselves gently round his neck; and the fair head drooped lower and lower, wearily, until it lay on his shoulder.
The clown’s wife turned away her face, desperately stifling with both hands the sobs that were beginning to burst from her afresh. She whispered, “Oh, go, sir,—pray go! Some of the riders will be in here directly; you’ll get us into dreadful trouble!”
Valentine rose, still holding the child in his arms. “I’ll go if you promise me—”
“I’ll promise you anything, sir!”
“You know the rectory! Doctor Joyce’s—the clergyman—my kind friend—”
“Yes, sir; I know it. Do please, for little Mary’s sake be quick as you can!”
“Mary! Her name’s Mary!” Valentine drew back into a corner, and began kissing the child again.
“You must be out of your senses to keep on in that way after what I’ve told you!” cried the clown’s wife, wringing her hands in despair, and trying to drag him out of the corner. “Jubber will be in here in another minute. She’ll be beaten again, if you’re caught with her; oh Lord! oh Lord! will nothing make you understand that?”