The captain was very ill, but he was no longer uncared for. In the
attic which Bet had rendered clean and sweet, he lay and tossed on his
hard and feverish bed. His weakness and prostration were difficult to
account for; he could give no coherent account of himself, only, as the
fever left him false strength, he murmured his brother's name
continually, telling him to hide, to run fast, and promising to
overtake him as soon as possible. Once or twice he screamed piteously,
as though he were again feeling the hard strokes of a cruel hand. The
doctor came to see him, and ordered lots of nourishment, and spoke
gravely of the boy's state.
"Why is not his sister with him?" the medical man said; for he knew
Bet, and had often remarked her kindness and tenderness to her young
brothers.
In the absence of Bet, however, the captain was not neglected, Mother
Bunch taking care of him by day, and at all times when Hester Wright
was obliged to be absent. There were no traces anywhere of the poor
little general. It is true he might still be at Sparrow Street, but
Hester thought it wiser for many reasons not to venture there just now.
If Granger was in a taking about the kidnapping of his little son, he
certainly showed no symptoms of invading Mother Bunch's premises on his
behalf; and it was thought best for the captain's sake to do nothing to
rouse his father's ire at present.
"We'll have him by-and-bye--he shall feel this ahrum yet," said Mother
Bunch. "But now you and me has got to pull this child through, Hetty
Wright. It do seem to me that he's 'most took for death, but we'll pull
him through by the help of God Almighty."
This was no easy matter; for the little life seemed to be ebbing
further and further away from this world's shores, and often it seemed
to Hester that the unconscious child scarcely breathed.
"I wouldn't like Bet to come back, and not see the little chap," she
replied once to Mother Bunch, who was gazing at him with a very dubious
look on her face. "Ef there ever was a good sister, Bet's the one; and
I wouldn't like her to come here and see no captain--and, for that
matter, no general neither."
"We'll pull him through," said Mother Bunch. "Even if he is took for
death--we'll pull him through."
She always said this, although her tones of late had grown less
confident.
On this occasion she took Hester's place by the sick child; and Hetty
being at liberty wrapped her cloak about her, and went out.
The small captain was lying at death's door; but there were other
things to be considered, and Hester Wright's brain was full of a daring
project just then.
Mrs. Flannigan was doing very well with Hetty's basket; so she was at
liberty to use her own time as she thought fit, and as the old woman
would scorn to rob the singer, her pockets were not quite empty. It was
the middle of the day--dull and cloudy, a slight drizzling mist falling
now and then.
Hester stepped into one of the tramcars, and after a ride of about
half-an-hour found herself in a pretty suburb of the great city. She
was going to see Sister Mary Vallence, and sincerely hoped that she
might find her at home. Her errand was important, and the whole success
of the scheme which she was forming in her mind would depend on this
young lady's co-operation.
Sister Mary was fairly popular amongst the people for whom she worked.
She was a brave, fearless, high-minded girl, never leaving a stone
unturned to help others, and influencing many people by the power of a
great love. She was at home, and Hetty Wright was at once admitted into
her presence. Hetty had never before come in contact with Miss
Vallence. Popular as she was in the slums, her rather remarkable face
and her great gift of song were both unknown to the young lady. The
fact, however, of Hester wearing a poor gown, and one look into her
rather worn and pathetic face, ensured her a kindly and interested
greeting. Sister Mary asked Hester to seat herself, and then sat
quietly down, with that look of leisure on her face which always gives
assurance to the teller of a story. Sister Mary did a great deal in her
life, but she was never in a hurry; and this fact weighed now with
Hester giving her confidence, and causing her heart to beat quietly.
"I ha' come to trouble you with a sad tale, madam," she began.
"I am sorry--will you call me sister, please," responded the young lady.
"Bet Granger has told me of yer," continued Hester. "You were good to
her poor mother."
"Certainly, I had a great regard for Mrs. Granger,--she was good. I
know she was difficult to understand, but she was a woman with a great
faith. I have often been sorry for her daughter; how is she now?"
"Lost, ma'am--lost, as far as we know--we can't get word nor trace of
her. She's not in Liverpool, and I don't know where she be. I fear me
she's in the clutches of a bad man, and I ha' come to you to-day,
Sister Mary, to ask you to help me to save her. Listen. I can tell in a
few words her story, since the night as her mother died."
Hester's great gift was song, but even her speaking voice was refined,
pathetic, and with some uncommon notes in it, which always exercised a
certain influence over those who listened to her. She told of Bet and
Will, of their love and their despair; and the sad tale certainly lost
nothing by her manner of telling it. Sister Mary no longer sat still;
she rose to her feet, clasping and unclasping her white hands, her lips
opening, as if she must arrest the speaker's words--as if she must pour
forth some of the pent-up feeling which the story had aroused.
"Then you believe," she said at last, "you firmly believe, that the
man, the sailor with the blue eyes, whose face haunts me still, is
innocent?--that he never stole my purse--that he is lying in prison now
under a false charge? Oh, how glad I am! It seemed to shake my very
faith to have to believe that a man with a face like that was really
guilty."
"He is innocent, sister. Will Scarlett told a true story. Dent gave him
the notes because he wanted to get rid of them, and because he wanted
to win Bet for himself. Isaac Dent is the thief, sister; my cousin Will
is innocent."
"But if you knew this, Hester Wright--if you were certain on this
point," answered Miss Vallence, "why did you not come to the
police-court the other day, and clear the sailor? Oh, I think it was
cruel of you to stay away."
"What's _my_ word, lady? I know it, but I can't prove it. The facts are
all agin' Will--he's in the House of Detention now, and he says he's
safe to get two year."
"Two years' imprisonment, when another man did the deed!"
"Yes, sister--he says he's quite sure."
"But this is dreadful! I will speak to my father--you must tell your
story to my father."
"That'ull do no good, lady. Facts go agin' Will, and there's only one
way of clearing him."
"Oh, is there a way? How glad I am! You are a brave girl, Hester. Tell
me at once about the way."
"I can't tell you much, Miss Vallence, but I ha' come here to-day--I
ha' come to say--yes, to say that we can't never clear Will, and that a
plan I have got in my head can't be carried through without you."
"Without me? Yes; I will certainly help--tell me what I can do."
"I can't lady--not yet-the time ain't ripe yet; but ef you'll trust a
lass like me, and give a promise, then I can carry out my plan. And ef
it succeeds Will will be cleared, and Bet won't be tied for life to a
villain; and a bad man--perhaps two bad men--'ull meet what they
deserve. Oh," continued Hester, "I never said as I believed in God--I
never went in for being a good 'un in any sense; but I think I do
believe in Him now--I think I do. Trust, and He will bring it to pass.
Lady," here Hester resumed her usual manner, "I ha' come to ask you to
give me a promise in the dark."
"That is a difficult thing to give," replied Miss Vallence, slowly. "I
am most desirous of helping you--I may say further, that I certainly
_will_ help you to the best of my ability; but a promise in the dark
seems scarcely right--why do you ask it of me?"
"Because you can help me in no other way, Miss Vallence. It's just a
question of trusting a lass you ha' never seen afore. No harm shall
happen to you--not a hair of your head shall be touched, but you must
go blindly with me,--in the dark--that's it; there's no other way."
"You're a strange creature," said Miss Vallence. "You move me, you
excite me. In spite of myself, I cannot help believing in you. I may be
wrong, but for once I will be guided by the queer influence you have
over me--by the something within which compels me to trust you. Hester
Wright, I will promise to do what you want."
Hester's earnest dark eyes filled with tears.
"You ha' taken a load off me," she said. "There is a good God--for He
made you. The lad has a chance now, and Bet has a chance; and perhaps
the little 'un may get well arter all. Oh! every thing may come right
arter all, and it 'ull be owing to you, just because you weren't
afeard, and trusted a lass you had never seen. Miss Vallence, it won't
be to-night, nor to-morrow night--but the night arter--some time the
night arter--I'll come here, and then I'll ask you to go with me. You
needn't be afeard; no one in all Liverpool will be safer nor you; but
you'll be coming with me in the dark. A brave lady! Eh! I used to think
as ladies had no real sperrit, but I'll never think so no more!"
"I'll be ready for you, Hester," said Sister Mary, in her gravest
voice. "The night after next--at what hour will you call for me,
Hester?"
"Sister, I may not come at all, and I can't name the hour--it may be
any time atween eight o'clock and midnight. I may fail--only I don't
think so."
"You will not fail," said Miss Vallence. "I will be ready."
They clasped each other's hands and parted.