my dear! You startle me with that manner of yours — just let me finish out my sentence. If you’ll say that, for reasons which must forever remain a secret, you decidedly and unchangeably give up all connection, all engagement with him (which, in fact, Edward’s conduct has as good as put an end to), I’ll go over to Woodchester and tell Mr. Henry and the police that they need not make further search after Edward, for that I won’t appear against him. You can save your brother; and you’ll do yourself no harm by writing this letter, for of course you see your engagement is broken off. For you never would wish to disgrace Frank.”
He paused, anxiously awaiting her reply. She did not speak.
“I’m sure, if I appear against him, he is as good as transported,” he put in, after a while.
Just at this time there was a little sound of displaced china in the closet. Mr. Buxton did not attend to it, but Maggie heard it. She got up, and stood quite calm before Mr. Buxton.
“You must go,” said she. “I know you; and I know you are not aware of the cruel way in which you have spoken to me, while asking me to give up the very hope and marrow of my life”— she could not go on for a moment; she was choked up with anguish.
“It was the truth, Maggie,” said he, somewhat abashed.
“It was the truth that made the cruelty of it. But you did not mean to speak cruelly to me, I know. Only it is hard all at once to be called upon to face the shame and blasted character of one who was once an innocent child at the same father’s knee.”
“I may have spoken too plainly,” said Mr. Buxton, “but it was necessary to set the plain truth before you, for my son’s sake. You will write the letter I ask?”
Her look was wandering and uncertain. Her attention was distracted by sounds which to him had no meaning; and her judgment she felt was wavering and disturbed.
“I cannot tell. Give me time to think; you will do that, I’m sure. Go now, and leave me alone. If it is right, God will give me strength to do it, and perhaps He will comfort me in my desolation. But I do not know — I cannot tell. I must have time to think. Go now, if you please, sir,” said she, imploringly.
“I am sure you will see it is a right thing I ask of you,” he persisted.
“Go now,” she repeated.
“Very well. In two hours, I will come back again; for your sake, time is precious. Even while we speak he may be arrested. At eleven, I will come back.”
He went away, leaving her sick and dizzy with the effort to be calm and collected enough to think. She had forgotten for the moment how near Edward was; and started when she saw the closet-door open, and his face put out.
“Is he gone? I thought he never would go. What a time you kept him, Maggie! I was so afraid, once, you might sit down to write the letter in this room; and then I knew he would stop and worry you with interruptions and advice, so that it would never be ended; and my back was almost broken. But you sent him off famously. Why, Maggie! Maggie! — you’re not going to faint, surely!”
His sudden burst out of a whisper into a loud exclamation of surprise, made her rally; but she could not stand. She tried to smile, for he really looked frightened.
“I have been sitting up for many nights — and now this sorrow!” Her smile died away into a wailing, feeble cry.
“Well, well! it’s over now, you see. I was frightened enough myself this morning, I own; and then you were brave and kind. But I knew you could save me, all along.”
At this moment the door opened, and Mrs. Browne came in.
“Why, Edward, dear! who would have thought of seeing you! This is good of you; what a pleasant surprise! I often said, you might come over for a day from Woodchester. What’s the matter, Maggie, you look so fagged? She’s losing all her beauty, is not she, Edward? Where’s breakfast? I thought I should find all ready. What’s the matter? Why don’t you speak?” said she, growing anxious at their silence. Maggie left the explanation to Edward.
“Mother,” said he, “I’ve been rather a naughty boy, and got into some trouble; but Maggie is going to help me out of it, like a good sister.”
“What is it?” said Mrs. Browne, looking bewildered and uneasy.
“Oh — I took a little liberty with our friend Mr. Buxton’s name; and wrote it down to a receipt — that was all.”
Mrs. Browne’s face showed that the light came but slowly into her mind.
“But that’s forgery — is not it?” asked she at length, in terror.
“People call it so,” said Edward; “I call it borrowing from an old friend, who was always willing to lend.”
“Does he know? — is he angry?” asked Mrs. Browne.
“Yes, he knows; and he blusters a deal. He was working himself up grandly at first. Maggie! I was getting rarely frightened, I can tell you.”
“Has he been here?” said Mrs. Browne, in bewildered fright.
“Oh, yes! he and Maggie have been having a long talk, while I was hid in the china-closet. I would not go over that half-hour again for any money. However, he and Maggie came to terms, at last.”
“No, Edward, we did not!” said Maggie, in a low quivering voice.
“Very nearly. She’s to give up her engagement, and then he will let me off.”
“Do you mean that Maggie is to give up her engagement to Mr. Frank Buxton?” asked his mother.
“Yes. It would never have come to anything, one might see that. Old Buxton would have held out against it till doomsday. And, sooner or later, Frank would have grown weary. If Maggie had had any spirit, she might have worked him up to marry her before now; and then I should have been spared even this fright, for they would never have set the police after Mrs. Frank Buxton’s brother.”
“Why, dearest, Edward, the police are not after you, are they?” said Mrs. Browne, for the first time alive to the urgency of the case.
“I believe they are though,” said Edward. “But after what Mr. Buxton promised this morning, it does not signify.”
“He did not promise anything,” said Maggie.
Edward turned sharply to her, and looked at her. Then he went and took hold of her wrists with no gentle grasp, and spoke to her through his set teeth.
“What do you mean, Maggie? — what do you mean?” (giving her a little shake.) “Do you mean that you’ll stick to your lover through thick and thin, and leave your brother to be transported? Speak, can’t you?”
She looked up at him, and tried to speak, but no words came out of her dry throat. At last she made a strong effort.
“You must give me time to think. I will do what is right, by God’s help.”
“As if it was not right — and such can’t — to save your brother,” said he, throwing her hands away in a passionate manner.
“I
