The manufacturer seemed to hitch himself off towards his own side of the gig, gave another look at her, and was silent. The poor woman seemed somewhat astonished at his look and movement, and was silent too.
After awhile Mr. Spires said again, “And do you hope to find friends in Castleborough? Had you none where you came from?”
“None, sir; none in the world!” said the poor woman, and again her feelings seemed too strong for her. At length she added, “I was in service, sir, at Poole, in Dorsetshire, when I married; my mother only was living, and while I was away with my husband, she died. When—when the news came from abroad, that—when I was a widow, sir, I went back to my native place, and the parish-officers said I must go to my husband’s parish lest I and my child should become troublesome.”
“You asked relief of them?”
“Never! oh, God knows, no, never! My family have never asked a penny of a parish,—they would die first, and so would I, sir; but they said I might do it, and I had better go to my husband’s parish at once and they offered me money to go.”
“And you took it, of course.”
“No, sir; I had a little money, which I had earned by washing and laundering; and I sold most of my things, as I could not carry them, and came off. I felt hurt, sir; my heart rose against the treatment of the parish, and I thought I should be better amongst my husband’s friends,—and my child would, if anything happened to me. I had no friends of my own.”
Mr. Spires looked at the woman in silence.
“Did your husband tell you anything of his friends? What sort of a man was he?”
“Oh, he was a gay young fellow, rather, sir; but not bad to me. He always said his friends were well off in Castleborough.”