CHAPTER IX.

When she opened the kitchen-door there was the same small, mizzling rain that had obscured the light for weeks, and now it seemed to obscure hope.

She clambered slowly (for indeed she was very feeble) up the Fell-Lane, and threw herself under the leafless thorn, every small branch and twig of which was loaded with rain-drops.  She did not see the well-beloved and familiar landscape for her tears, and did not miss the hills in the distance that were hidden behind the rain-clouds, and sweeping showers.

Mrs. Browne and Edward sat over the fire.  He told her his own story; making the temptation strong; the crime a mere trifling, venial error, which he had been led into, through his idea that he was to become Mr. Buxton’s agent.

“But if it is only that,” said Mrs. Browne, “surely Mr. Buxton will not think of going to law with you?”

“It’s not merely going to law that he will think of, but trying and transporting me.  That Henry he has got for his agent is as sharp as a needle, and as hard as a nether mill-stone.  And the fellow has obtained such a hold over Mr. Buxton, that he dare but do what he tells him.  I can’t imagine how he had so much free-will left as to come with his proposal to Maggie; unless, indeed, Henry knows of it—­or, what is most likely of all, has put him up to it.  Between them they have given that poor fool Crayston a pretty dose of it; and I should have come yet worse off if it had not been for Maggie.  Let me get clear this time, and I will keep to windward of the law for the future.”

“If we sold the cottage we could repay it,” said Mrs. Browne, meditating.  “Maggie and I could live on very little.  But you see this property is held in trust for you two.”

“Nay, mother; you must not talk of repaying it.  Depend upon it he will be so glad to have Frank free from his engagement, that he won’t think of asking for the money.  And if Mr. Henry says anything about it, we can tell him it’s not half the damages they would have had to have given Maggie, if Frank had been extricated in any other way.  I wish she would come back; I would prime her a little as to what to say.  Keep a look out, mother, lest Mr. Buxton returns and find me here.”

“I wish Maggie would come in too,” said Mrs. Browne.  “I’m afraid she’ll catch cold this damp day, and then I shall have two to nurse.  You think she’ll give it up, don’t you, Edward?  If she does not I’m afraid of harm coming to you.  Had you not better keep out of the way?”

“It’s fine talking.  Where am I to go out of sight of the police this wet day:  without a shilling in the world too?  If you’ll give me some money I’ll be off fast enough, and make assurance doubly sure.  I’m not much afraid of Maggie.  She’s a little yea-nay thing, and I can always bend her round to what we want.  She had better take care, too,” said he, with a desperate look on his face, “for by G——­ I’ll make her give up all thoughts of Frank, rather than be taken and tried.  Why! it’s my chance for all my life; and do you think I’ll have it frustrated for a girl’s whim?”