Bet generally bought her papers at a tiny shop not far from her old
home. She got them at wholesale price, and was well known to the woman
who kept the shop. This person regarded Bet as one of her most constant
customers, and now and then added a paper or two of the half-penny
order to her bundle for nothing, and by way of good luck. On this night
she informed her young customer that she had no copies of the _Evening
Star_ left.
"There's a run on it," she said. "There's news from the
Soudan--something about General Gordon. Anyhow, it's sold out; so you
had better take some more of the _News_."
Bet was vexed, for the _Evening Star_ was the most popular of all her
papers.
"I'm late to-night, and that's a fact," she said. "But you might ha'
kept some of them for me."
"So I would, dear, but I thought you were leaving the newspaper
business. A girl came in and said so, and she bought up all that were
left of the _Evening Star_."
Bet was preparing to reply angrily to this when two or three ladies
came into the shop who had to be attended to.
"I'd like to meet that girl," she said to herself as she walked rapidly
to her destination. "What lies some folks do tell, to be sure!"
She was, as she said, late; and now as she walked along she opened her
papers and sorted them, hoping that she had not lost many customers,
and resolving that in future Nat and Thady should not hinder her from
being in good time at her post. She was somewhat breathless when she
reached it, and as she stood in the full blaze of the gaslight in her
favorite position, her eyes were shining, and a rich color mantled in
her cheeks. She looked positively lovely, and several people turned and
stared at her. Her face was of a refined and even noble cast; and the
incongruity of the uncovered head and the poor and tattered clothing
only made her beauty the more striking. "Ha, ha!" laughed a coarse
voice in her ear.
She turned quickly,--the dark, rough-looking girl who had accosted her
on Saturday night was also standing in the blaze of gaslight; she also
carried papers in her hands, and Bet saw that she held uppermost a
great pile of the favorite _Evening Star_.
"Ha, ha!" she said, beginning to dance round her companion--"handsome
Bet Granger! Lovely Bet Granger! But rosy cheeks won't do it, nor eyes
that sparkle, nor lips that smile ever so sweet, when the beat's mine!
mine! mine! Want an _Evening Star_, sir? Great news of Gordon in the
Soudan! Great news from the Soudan! Soudan! _Evening Star!_ Latest
particulars! Fifth edition! Only a halfpenny, sir! Want an _Evening
Star_, sir?"
"I think this is the girl who always serves me," said the gentleman now
addressed.
He turned to Bet, and asked her for a copy of the paper.
"I have only got the _Evening News,_" she replied, in a dull, lifeless
voice.
"Then I will take that," he said kindly.
He paid Bet the halfpenny, and went into his club.
"You had no right to do that, my pretty dear," said the dark girl. "I
paid fifteen shillin' for your beat only this morning. I said as I were
willing to buy, and your father he come and axed me, and I give him the
money. What's the matter, Bet? You needn't look like that. Fair play's
fair play, and the beat's mine now--I paid for it. You ain't of age,"
she added with a taunting laugh, "and your father had a right to sell,
and the beat's mine now."
"Maybe you are telling me a lie," said Bet, still in that queer dull
voice. "Some people don't mind telling lies, and you're one of them. I
intend to go on selling papers here until you can prove as the beat's
yourn." "Bless your heart, I can do that now--here. I suppose you know
your own father's writing? See, there's light enough under the gas for
you to read. There--see for yourself what he have said."
The black-eyed girl held up a dirty piece of paper for Bet's
inspection. Like a flash she took in the meaning of the few words
scribbled on it.
"This is to certify that I has sold the newspaper beat of my daughter,
Elizabeth Granger, to Louisa Marks for the sum of fifteen
shillings.--JAMES GRANGER."
"It's all right," said Louisa, as Bet handed her back the paper. "You
haven't a word to say again it, have you?"
"No," said Bet, raising her voice a very little--"not to you. I haven't
a word to say to you though you have stabbed me in the dark. I could
fight you, but I won't; for you're of the cowardly sort that think
nothing of lies, and creeping into a thing by the back door. You ain't
worth fighting. I wouldn't have it said I touched your sort. Keep the
beat that wasn't my father's to sell, nor yours to buy. Keep it; make
what you can of it. Good-night."
The sparkle had not left her eyes, and the flush of exercise had given
place to the flush of burning rage on her cheeks. She felt that she
could have done that dark, malicious, talking girl an injury--only she
wasn't worth it; she would pour the full vials of her wrath on other
heads.
She walked away rapidly, not caring in the least where she wandered. At
that moment it was nothing at all to her that she was ruined--that her
means of livelihood had been snatched from her--that she had a bundle
of unsold papers under her arm, and only twopence in her pocket,--that
two little boys would be hungry to-morrow for the bread which she could
not give them. All the pain of these things would come later to her;
but just now she only felt her swelling, raging anger, and her burning
thirst to revenge herself on the cruel man who called himself her
father.
As a matter of course, she wandered into the slums and low places of
the town--she eschewed the lighted thoroughfares, and walked along the
darker streets. Her beauty was so remarkable to-night, that even here
she was observed and commented upon; and with an instinctive, almost
unconscious movement--for her passion absorbed her so much that she did
not see the gaze of the passers-by--she raised her mother's worn,
many-colored plaid shawl over her head, and partly hid her flushed,
dazzling face in its folds.
Suddenly, in the midst of her rapid, headlong walk, she drew up short,
pressing her hand to her heart, her lips parted, her eyes distended to
their widest. She was listening to a sound, and that sound was saving
her. The full, rich, delicious notes of a woman's voice were floating
out through one of the dark courts to Bet's ears--the notes warbled
like a bird's, they rose and fell like the clear cool sound of a
fountain. Bet's great eyes grew soft--she knew the voice, and the music
drew her as certainly as a troubled child will fly to its mother. She
went straight into the court, and joined the group of listeners who
were hanging on to Hester Wright's melodious utterances.
This special court was not lit by any gaslight, but a man had brought a
rude, ill-contrived lantern, and by its dim, flickering rays the slight
form and thin earnest face of the singer could be fitfully seen. A
great crowd had gathered round her, but she herself was raised above
the people by standing on a chair which one of the neighbors had
fetched. By her side stood Will Scarlett. He joined her in the
choruses, his voice answering note by note to hers; his face, too, was
seen in the dim light, and Bet gave a start when she recognized it, and
crept herself a little farther into the shade.
The wretched little court was almost full of people, fresh numbers
coming in, moment by moment, as the beauty of the voice attracted them.
These people belonged to the lowest refuse of Liverpool life; but they
were all quiet, subdued, orderly--tamed, in short, for the time, by the
magical gift which Hester possessed.
As a rule she chose grave music--it suited the depth and quality of her
voice; but very rarely would she favor her audience with rollicking
sea-songs, or anything with a comic element. Her taste, as regarded
music, was absolutely pure and good, and she had a wonderful faculty
for picking up both words and music of the nobler sort.
When Bet entered the court Hester and Will were singing "Kathleen
Mavourneen." The fine range of Hester's voice enabled her to do this
somewhat difficult melody full justice. Will helped her with a note or
two now and then, for his own taste in music was nearly as good as
hers, and he knew exactly when and how to aid without spoiling the
effect. As each song was finished the people cheered, but not noisily;
the cry was generally, "Give us more--give us another, Hester Wright!"
"Yes, I will give you another," said Hester, when "Kathleen Mavourneen"
had come to an end. "I will give you something very beautiful now. I
don't think you know it--it will touch you."
Her voice rose again into the air--
"I had a message to send her,
To her whom my soul loved best;
But I had my task to finish,
And she had gone home to rest."
All through the difficult evolutions of the melody Hester's voice rose
and fell; she rendered no note of the music wrong; her unerring
instinct and her real genius carrying her through the most complicated
and pathetic music she had ever attempted. The breathless silence grew
denser, the people pressed closer, and Bet, forgetting everything in
the ecstasy of listening, found herself almost pushed to the front:--
"And at last I know that my message
Has passed through the golden gate,
And my heart is no longer restless,
And I am content to wait."
"That is beautiful," said the singer. "Yes, those words stir my
heart--there's nought like music--no, there's nought like music in all
the world. Now, I'll give you one more good thing--perhaps a better
thing than that--afore I go home. I heard it sung to the organ, and it
come from the inside of a church. I don't hold by no church, but this
thing has fastened on my heart, and I'll give it to you, neighbors."
Hester stooped down and said a word or two to Will Scarlett.
"Help me with the words, cousin--sing 'em out full, and as if somehow
you held on to them."
Will nodded, and the two voices, in perfect harmony, once more filled
the court.
_"Oh, rest in the Lord. Wait patiently--patiently-for Him; and He shall
give thee thy heart's--thy heart's desire."_
As the last notes fell upon the listening people they might have
noticed, had they not been so absorbed in watching Hester, that the
man's deep voice shook and swayed a little. The fact was this: the
flickering rays of the lantern had shown him the ruddy glow of a
certain stately head, and for an instant a face shone out, and was lost
again in the thick darkness. When the last notes died away Bet turned,
and, pressing through the crowd, left the court; but the unerring
instinct of love made Will Scarlett hear her departing footsteps over
and above all the others. He said two hasty words to Hester, and
followed her.