III.—­Murder

Two nights later, Barton was to leave for Glasgow, whither he was to travel as delegate to entreat assistance for the strikers.  “What could be the matter with him?” thought Mary.  He was so restless; he seemed so fierce, too.

Presently he rose, and in a short, cold manner bade her farewell.  She stood at the door, looking after him, her eyes blinded with tears.  He was so strange, so cold, so hard.  Suddenly he came back, and took her in his arms.

“God in heaven bless thee, Mary!”

She threw her arms round his neck.  He kissed her, unlaced her soft, twining arms, and set off on his errand.

When Mary reached the dressmaker’s next morning, she noticed that the girls stopped talking.  They eyed her! then they began to whisper.  At last one of them asked her if she had heard the news.

“No!  What news?” she answered.

“Have you not heard that young Mr. Carson was murdered last night?”

Mary could not speak, but no one who looked at her pale and terror-stricken face could have doubted that she had not heard before of the fearful occurrence.

She felt throughout the day as if the haunting horror were a nightmare from which awakening would relieve her.  Everybody was full of the one subject.

In the evening she went to Mrs. Wilson’s, hoping that at last she might see Jem.  But here a new and terrible shock awaited her.

Mrs. Wilson turned fiercely upon her.

“And is it thee that dares set foot in this house, after what has come to pass?  Dost thou know where my son is, all through thee?”

“No,” quivered out poor Mary.

“He’s lying in prison, waiting to take his trial for murdering young Mr. Carson.”

So, indeed, it was.  At the inquest the policeman who had witnessed the quarrel between the rivals testified to the threats uttered by Jem; and the gun used by the murderer, and thrown away by him in his haste to escape, had been proved to be Jem’s property.

Jem an assassin, and because of her!  In the agony of that night Mary saw the gallows standing black against the burning light which dazzled her shut eyes, press on them as she would.  She thought she was going mad; then Heaven blessed her unawares, and she sank to sleep.

She was awakened by the coming of a visitor.  It was her long-lost, unrecognised aunt Esther, who had come to her niece bringing her a little piece of paper compressed into a round shape.  It was the paper that had served as wadding for the murderer’s gun.  Esther had picked it up while wandering in curiosity about the scene of the murder.  There was writing on the paper, and she had brought it to Mary, fearing that if it fell into the hands of the police it would provide more evidence against Jem.

The paper told Mary everything.  It had belonged to John Barton.  Jem was innocent, and her own father was the murderer!  Jem must be saved, and she must do it; for was she not the sole repository of the terrible secret?  And how could she prove Jem’s innocence without admitting her father’s guilt?