“Now, Mrs. Peckover,” continued Doctor Joyce, in the most perfectly composed manner, “before I see this man (whose business I can guess at) I have three important questions to ask of you. In the first place, were you not a witness, last night, of his cruel ill-usage of that poor child? (Mr. Blyth told me of it.) The fellow actually beat her, did he not?”
“Oh, indeed he did, sir!—beat her most cruelly with a cane.”
“And you saw it all yourself?”
“I did, sir. He’d have used her worse, if I hadn’t been by to prevent him.”
“Very well. Now tell me if you or your husband have signed any agreement—any papers, I mean, giving this man a right to claim the child as one of his performers?”
“Me sign an agreement, sir! I never did such a thing in all my life. Jubber would think himself insulted, if you only talked of his signing an agreement with such as me or Jemmy.”
“Better and better. Now, my third question refers to little Mary herself. I will undertake to put it out of this blackguard’s power ever to lay a finger on her again—but I can only do so on one condition, which it rests entirely with you to grant.”
“I’ll do anything to save her, sir; I will indeed.”
“The condition is that you consent to Mr. Blyth’s proposal; for I can only ensure the child’s safety on those terms.”
“Then, sir, I consent to it,” said Mrs. Peckover, speaking with a sudden firmness of tone and manner which almost startled Mrs. Joyce, who stood by listening anxiously. “I consent to it; for I should be the vilest wretch in the world, if I could say ‘no’ at such a time as this. I will trust my precious darling treasure to you, sir, and to Mr. Blyth; from this moment. God bless her, and comfort me! for I want comfort badly enough. Oh, Mary! Mary! my own little Mary! to think of you and me ever being parted like this!” The poor woman turned towards the garden as she pronounced those words; all her fortitude forsook her in an instant; and she sank back in her chair, sobbing bitterly.