“My father,” said the noble girl, lifting up his head, and passionately kissing it; “when they whispered so against me, and Jonathan heard the wicked things men said, I would have borne it all, all in silence, and let them all believe me bad, father, if I could have guessed that by uttering the truth, I should have seen thee here, in a dungeon, treated as a—­murderer!  How was I to tell that men could be so base, as to charge such crimes upon the innocent, when his only fault, or his misfortune, was to find a crock of gold?  Oh! forgive me, too, this wrong, my father!”

And they wept in each other’s arms.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

JONATHAN’S TROTH.

GRACE had been all but an inmate of the prison, ever since her father had been placed there on suspicion.  Early and late, and often in the day, was the duteous daughter at his cell, for the governor and the turn-keys favoured her.  Who could resist such beauty and affection, entreating to stay with a father about to stand on trial for his life, and making every effort to be allowed only to pray with him?  Thus did Grace spend all the week before those dread assizes.

As to her daily maintenance, ever since that bitter morning when the crock was found, her spiritual fears had obliged her to abstain from touching so much as one penny of that unblest store; and, seeing that honest pride would not let her be supported by grudged and common charity, she had thankfully suffered the wages of her now betrothed Jonathan to serve as means whereon she lived, and (what cost more than all her humble wants) whereby she could administer many little comforts to her father in his prison.  When she was not in the cell, Grace was generally at the Hall, to the scandal of more than one Hurstleyan gossip; but perhaps they did not know how usually kind Sarah Stack was of the company, to welcome her with Jonathan, and play propriety.  Sarah was a true friend, one for adversity, and though young herself, and not ill-looking, did not envy Grace her handsome lover; on the contrary, she did all to make them happy, and had gone the friendly length of insisting to find Grace and her family in tea and sugar, while all this lasted.  I like that much in Sarah Stack.

However, the remainder of the virtuous world were not so considerate, nor so charitable.  Many neighbours shunned the poor girl, as if contaminated by the crimes which Roger had undoubtedly committed:  the more elderly unmarried sisterhood, as we have chronicled already, were overjoyed at the precious opportunity:—­“Here was the pert vixen, whom all the young fellows so shamelessly followed, turned out, after all, a murderer’s daughter;—­they wished her joy of her eyes, and lips, and curls, and pretty speeches:  no good ever came of such naughty ways, that the men liked so.”

Nay, even the tipsy crew at Bacchus’s affected to treat her name with scorn:—­“The girl had made much noise about being called a trull, as if many a better than she wasn’t one; and, after all, what was the prudish wench? a sort of she-butcher; they had no patience with her proud looks.”