 34. The return home—Dixwell—Forgiveness—O-Forgiveness and a grave—Mary—God knows thy heart, my father, and I shudder to think what thou perchance has acted. Dixwell—O—Mary—No common load of woe is thine, my father—Eliots Cahona. Mary still hovered between life and death when Gem arrived at the house where she lay, and the doctors were as yet unwilling to compromise their wisdom by allowing too much hope to be entertained. But the state of things, if not less anxious, was less distressing than when Gem had quitted her. She lay now in a stupa which was partly diseased, and partly exhausted after the previous excitement. And now Gem found the difficulty which every one who has watched by a sick bed knows for well, and which is perhaps more insurmountable to men than it is to women—the difficulty of being patient, and trying not to expect any visible change for long, long hours of sad monotony. But after a while the reward came. The laboured breathing became lower and softer. The heavy look of oppressive pain melted away from the face, and a lingo that was almost pieced took the place of suffering. She slept a natural sleep, and they stole about on tiptoe and spoke low and softly, and hardly dared to breathe, however much they longed to sigh out their thankful relief. She opened her eyes. Her mind was in the tender state of a lately-born infant. She was pleased with the gay but not dazzling colours of the paper, soothed by the subdued light, and quite sufficiently amused by looking at all the objects in the room—the drawing of the ships, the festoons of the curtain, the bright flowers on the painted backs of the chairs—nor to care for any stronger excitement. She wandered at the ball of glass, containing various coloured sands from the Isle of Wight or some other place, which hung suspended from the middle of the little valance over the window. But she did not care to exert herself to ask any questions, although she saw Mrs. Sturger standing at the bedside with some tea, ready to drop it into her mouth by spoonfuls. She did not see the face of honest joy, of earnest thankfulness, the clasped hands, the beaming eyes, the trembling eagerness of gesture, of one who had long awaited her awakening, and who now stood behind the curtains watching through some little chink her every faint motion. Or if she had caught a glimpse of that loving, peeping face, she was in too exhausted a state to have taken much notice, or have long retained the impression that he, she loved so well, was hanging about her, and blessing God for every conscious look which stole over her countenance. She fell softly into slumber, without a word having been spoken by anyone during that half-hour of inexpressible joy, and again the stillness was enforced by sign and whispered word, but with eyes that beamed out their bright thoughts of hope. Gems sat by the side of the bed, holding back the little curtain, and gazing as if he could never gaze his fill at the pale, wasted face, so marbled and so chiseled in its worn-out line. She wakened once more. Her soft eyes opened and met his overbending look. She smiled gently, as a baby does when it sees its mother tending its little cot, and continued her innocent infantile gaze into his face, as if the sight gave her much unconscious pleasure. But by and by a different expression came into her sweet eyes, a look of memory and intelligence. Her white flesh flushed the brightest rosy red, and with feeble motion she tried to hide her head in the pillow. It required all Gems' self-control to do what he knew and felt to be necessary to call Mrs. Sturgis, who was quietly dozing by the fireside, and that done he felt almost obliged to leave the room to keep down the happy agitation which would gush out in every feature, every gesture, and every tone. From that time forward Mary's progress towards health was rapid. There was every reason but one in favour of her speedy removal home. All Gems' duties lay in Manchester. It was his mother's dwelling place, and there his plans for life had been to be worked out. Plans, which the suspicion and imprisonment he had fallen into, had thrown for a time into a chaos which his presence was required to arrange into form. For he might find, in spite of a jury's verdict, that too strong a taint was on his character for him ever to labour in Manchester again. He remembered the manner in which some one suspected of having been a convict was shunned by masters and men. When he had accidentally met with work in their foundry the recollection smote him now. How he himself had thought it did not become an honest upright man to associate with one who had been a prisoner. He could not choose but think on that poor humble being with his downcast conscious look hunted out of the workshop where he had sought to earn an honest livelihood by the looks and half-spoken words and the black silence of repugnance. Worse than words to bear that met him on all sides. Gems felt that his own character had been attainted and that to many it might still appear suspicious. He knew that he could convince the world by a future as blameless as his past had been, that he was innocent. But at the same time he saw that he must have patience and nerve himself for some trials, and the sooner these were undergone the sooner he was aware of the place he held in men's estimation the better. He longed to have presented himself once more at the foundry, and then the reality would drive away the pictures that would unbidden come of a shunned man, eyed as scants by all and driven forth to shape out some new career. I said every reason but one inclined Gem to hasten Mary's return as soon as she was sufficiently convalescent. That one was the meeting which awaited her at home. Turned over as Gem would, he could not decide what was the best course to pursue. He could compel himself to any line of conduct that his reason and his sense of right told him to be desirable. But they did not tell him it was desirable to speak to Mary, in her tender state of mind and body of her father. How much would be implied by the mere mention of his name? Speak it as calmly and as indifferently as he might. He could not avoid expressing some consciousness of the terrible knowledge she possessed. She, for her part, was softer and gentler than she had ever been in her gentlest mood. Since her illness, her motions, her glances, her voice were all tender in their langua. It seemed almost a trouble to her to break the silence with the low sounds of her own sweet voice, and her words fell sparingly on Gem's greedy listening ear. Her face was, however, so full of love and confidence that Gem felt no uneasiness at the state of silent abstraction into which she often fell. If she did but love him, all would yet go right, and it was better not to press for confidence on that one subject which must be painful to both. There came a fine, bright, barmy day, and Mary tottered once more out into the open air, leaning on Gem's arm and close to his beating heart. And Mrs. Durger just watched them from her door with a blessing on her lips as they went slowly up the street. They came inside of the river. Mary shuddered. Her Gem take me home. Yon river seems all made of glittering, heaving, dazzling metal, just as it did when I began to be ill. Gem led her homewards. She dropped her head as searching for something on the ground. Gem—it was all a tension. She paused for an instant. When may I go home? To Manchester, I mean. I am so weary of this place, and I would faint be at home. She spoke in a feeble voice—not at all impatiently, as the words themselves would seem to intimate—but in a mournful way, as if anticipating sorrow even in the very fulfilment of her wishes. Darling, we will go whenever you wish, whenever you feel strong enough. I asked Job to tell Margaret to get all in readiness for you to go there at first. She'll tend to you and nurse you. You must not go home. Job offered for you to go there. Ah, but I must go home, Gem. I'll try and not fail now in what's right. There are things we must not speak on, loing her voice. But you'll be really kind if you'll not speak against my going home. Let us say no more about it, dear Gem. I must go home, and I must go alone. Not alone, Mary. Yes, alone. I cannot tell you why I ask it, and if you guess I know you well enough to be sure you'll understand why I ask you never to speak on that again to me till I begin. Promise, dear Gem? Promise? He promised. To gratify that beseeching face, he promised. And then he repented, and felt as if he had done ill. Then again he felt as if she were the best judge, and knowing all perhaps more than even he did, might be forming plans which his interference would mar. One thing was certain. It was a miserable thing to have this awful forbidden ground of discourse, to guess at each other's thoughts, when eyes were averted and cheeks blanched and words stood still, arrested in their flow by some casual illusion. At last a day fine enough for Mary to travel on arrived. She had wished to go, but now her courage failed her. How could she have said she was weary of that quiet house, where even Ben Sturgis's grumbling only made a kind of harmonious base in the concord between him and his wife, so thoroughly did they know each other with the knowledge of many years? How could she have longed to quit that little peaceful room, where she had experienced such loving tendons? Even the very cheque bed-curtains became dear to her under the idea of seeing them no more. If it was so with inanimate objects, if they had such power of exciting regret, what were her feelings with regard to the kind old couple who had taken the stranger in, and cared for her and nursed her as though she had been a daughter? Each wilful sentence spoken in the half unconscious irritation of feebleness came now with avenging self-approach to her memory, as she hung about Mrs Sturgis with many tears which served instead of words to express her gratitude and love. Ben bustled about with the square bottle of gold and wasser in one of his hands and a small tumbler in the other. He went to Mary, Jem, and his wife in succession pouring out a glass for each, and bidding them to drink it to keep their spirits up. But, as each severally refused, he drank it himself, and passed on to offer the same hospitality to another, with the like refusal and the like result. When he had swallowed the last of the three dras, he condescended to give his reasons for having done so. I cannot abide waste. What's poured out, month be drunk. That's my maxim. So, saying, he replaced the bottle into the cupboard. It was he who in a firm commanding voice at last told Jem and Mary to be off, or they would be late. Mrs Sturgis had to keep up till then. But, as they left her house, she could no longer restrain her tears, and cried aloud in spite of her husband's upbraiding. Perhaps they'll be too late for the train, exclaimed she with a degree of hope, as the clock struck two. What, and come back again? No, no, that would never do. We've done our part and cried our cry. It's no use going over the same ground again. I should have given more out a yon bottle when next parting time come, and them three glasses. They had made a hole in the stuff I can tell you. Time Jack was back from Hamburg with some more. When they reached Manchester, Mary looked very white, and the expression of her face was almost stern. She was in fact summoning up her resolution to meet her father if he were at home. Jem had never named his midnight glimpse of John Barton to human being. But Mary had a sort of pre-sentiment, that wonder where he would. He would seek his home at last. But in what mood she dreaded to think. For the knowledge of her father's capability of guilt seemed to have opened a dark gulf in his character, into the depths of which she trembled to look. At one moment she would feign of claim protection against the life she must lead, for some time at least, alone with a murderer. She thought of his gloom, before his mind was haunted by the memory of so terrible a crime, his moody, irritable ways. She imagined the evenings as of old. She toiling at some work, long after houses were shut and folks a bed. He more savage than he had ever been before with the inward gnawing of his remorse. At such times she could have cried aloud with terror at the scenes her fans he conjured up. But her filial duty, nay, her love and gratitude for many deeds of kindness done to her as a little child, conquered all fear. She would endure all imaginable terrors, although of daily occurrence. And she would patiently bear all wayward violence of temper. More than patiently would she bear it, pitifully, as one who knew of some awful curse awaiting the bloodshedder. She would watch over him tenderly, as the innocent should watch over the guilty, awaiting the gracious seasons, wearing to pour oil and balm into the bitter wounds. With the untroubled peace which the resolve to endure to the end gives, she approached the house that was from habit she still called home, but which possessed the wholeness of home no longer. Gem, she said, as they stood at the entrance to the court, close by Jobley's door. You must go in there and wait half an hour, not less. Even that time I do not come back. You go your way to your mother. Give her my dear love. I will send her by Margaret when I want to see you. She sighed heavily. Mary, Mary, I cannot leave you. You speak as coldly as if we were to be nought to each other, and my heart's bound up with you. I know why you bid me keep away, but— She put her hand on his arm as he spoke in a loud, agitated tone. She looked into his face with upbraiding love in her eyes, and then she said, while her lips quivered and he felt her whole frame trembling. Dear Gem, I often could have told you more of love. If I had not once spoken out so free, remember that time, Gem, if you ever think me cold. Then the love that's in my heart walled out in words, but now, although I'm silent on the pain I'm feeling in quitting you, the love is in my heart all the same. But this is not the time to speak on such things. If I do not do what I feel to be right now, I may blame myself all my life long. Gem, you promised! And so, saying she left him, she went quicker than she would otherwise have passed over those few yards of ground, for fear he should still try to accompany her. Her hand was on the latch, and in a breath the door was opened. There set her father still and motionless, not even turning his head to see who had entered, but perhaps he recognised the footstep, the trick of action. He sat by the fire, the great, I should say, for fire there was none. Some dull gray ashes, negligently left long days ago, coldly choked up the bars. He had taken the accustomed seat from mere force of habit, which ruled his automated body. For all energy both physical and mental seemed to have retreated inwards to some of the great citadels of life, there to do some battles against the destroyer, conscience. His hands were crossed, his fingers interlaced, usually a position implying some degree of resolution or strength, but in him it was so faintly maintained that it appeared more the result of chance. An attitude requiring some application of outward force to alter, and a blow with a straw seemed as though it would be sufficient. And as for his face it was sunk and worn, like a skull, with yet a suffering expression that skulls have not. Your heart would have ached to have seen the man, however hardly you might have judged his crime. But crime and all was forgotten by his daughter as she saw his abashed look, his smitten helplessness. All along she felt it difficult. As I may have said before, to reconcile the two ideas of her father and a bloodshedder. But now it was impossible. He was her father, her own dear father, and in his sufferings whatever their cause, more dearly loved than ever before. His crime was a thing apart, never more to be considered by her. Intendingly did she treat him, and fondly did she serve him in every way that her heart could devise or hand execute. She had some money about her, the price of her strange services as a witness, and when the lingering dusk grew on she stole out to efforts and purchases necessary for her father's comfort. For how body and soul had been kept together even as much as they were during the days he had dwelt alone, no one can say. The house was bare, as when Mary had left it, of coal, or of candle, or of food, or of blessing in any shape. She came quickly home, but as she passed Jobley's door, she stopped. Doubtless Jem had long since gone, and doubtless too he had given Margaret some good reason for not intruding upon her friend for this night at least, otherwise Mary would have seen her before now. But to-morrow would she not come in to-morrow, and who so quick as blind Margaret in noticing tones and sighs in even silence? She did not give herself time for further thought. Her desire to be once more with her father was too pressing. But she opened the door, before she well knew what to say. It's Mary Barton. I know her by her breathing. Grandfather, it's Mary Barton. Margaret Joy at meeting her, the open demonstration of her love, affected Mary much. She could not keep from crying and sat down weak and agitated on the first chair she could find. I am Mary! That looking a bit different to when I saw the last, that give Jem and me good characters for sick nurses I trust. If all trade fails, I'll turn to that. Jem's place is for life, I reckon. Nay never ridden so last. You and he know each other's minds by this time. Margaret held her hand, and gently smiled into her face. Jobley took the candle up, and began a letterly inspection. Not much, but when I last see thee thy lips were as white as a sheet, thy nose is sharpish at the end, thou art more like thy father than ever thou word before. O child, what's the matter? Are thou go to faint? For Mary had sickened at the mention of that name, yet she felt that now or never was the time to speak. Father's come home, she said, but he's very poorly. I never saw him as he is now, before. I asked Jem not to come near him, for fear it might fidget him. She spoke hastily, and to her own idea in an unnatural manner. But they did not seem to notice it. Nor to take the hint she had thrown out of company being unacceptable, for Jobley directly put down some insect which he was impaling on a cork pin, and exclaimed, They father come home, why, Jem, never said a word of it. And eiling too, I'll go in and cheer him with a bit of talk. I never knew any good come of delegating it. O Job, father cannot stand, father is too ill. Don't come, not but that you're very kind and good, but deny indeed. She said at last in despair, seeing Job still persevere in putting away his things. He must not come till I send for you. Father's in that strange way. I can't answer for it if he sees strangers. Please don't come. I'll come and tell you every day how he goes on. I must be off now to see after him. Dear Job, kind Job, don't be angry with me. If you knew all, you'd pity me. For Job was muttering away in high dungeon, and even Margaret's tone was altered as she wished merry good night. Just then she could ill-brook coldness from anyone, and least of all bear the idea of being considered ungrateful by so kind and zealous a friend as Job had been. So she turned round suddenly. Even when her hand was on the latch of the door and ran back and threw her arms about his neck and kissed him first and then Margaret. And then the tears fast falling down her cheeks, but no word spoken, she hastily left the house and went back to her home. There was no change in her father's position or in his spectral look. He had answered her questions, but few in number for so many subjects were unapproachable by monosyllables, in a weak, high childish voice. But he had not lifted his eyes, could not meet his daughter's look. And she, when she spoke, or as she moved about, avoided letting eyes rest upon him. She wished to be her usual self, but while everything was done with a consciousness of purpose she felt it was impossible. In this manner things went on for some days, at night he feebly clambered upstairs to bed, and during those long dark hours Mary heard those groans of agony which never escaped his lips by day, when they were compressed in silence over his inward woe. Many a time she set up listening and wondering if it would ease his miserable heart if she went to him and told him she knew all and loved and pitted him more than words could tell. By day the monotonous hours wore on in the same heavy, hushed manner as on that first dreary afternoon. He ate but without relish, and food seemed no longer to nourish him for each morning his face caught more of the ghastly foreshadowing of death. The neighbours kept strangely aloof. Of late years John Barton had had a repellent power about him, felt by all except to the few who had either known him in his better and happier days, or those to whom he had given his sympathy and his confidence. People did not care to enter the doors of one whose very depth of thoughtfulness rendered him moody and stern, and now they contented themselves with a kind inquiry when they saw Mary in her goings out or in her coming in. With her oppressing knowledge, she imagined their reserved conduct stranger than it was in reality. She missed Job and Margaret too, who in all former times of sorrow or anxiety since their acquaintance first began, had been ready with their sympathy. But most of all she missed the delicious luxury she had lately enjoyed in having gems tender-loved hand every hour of the day, to ward off every wind of heaven and every disturbing thought. She knew he was often hovering about the house, though the knowledge seemed to come more by intuition than by any positive sight or sound for the day or two. On the third day she met him at Job Lee's. They received her with every effort of cordiality, but still there was a cobweb veil of separation between them, to which Mary was morbidly acute, while in gem's voice and eyes and manner there was every evidence of most passionate, most admiring, and most trusting love. The trust was shown by his respectful silence on that one point of reserve on which she had interdicted conversation. He left Job Lee's house when she did. They lingered on the step, he holding her hand between both of his, as loath to let her go, he questioned her as to when he should see her again. Mother does so want to see you, whispered he, can you come to see her to-morrow or when? I cannot tell, replied she softly. Not yet. Wait a while, perhaps, only a little while. Dear gem, I must go to him. Dearest gem! The next day the fourth from Mary's returned home, as she was sitting near the window, sadly dreaming over some work, she caught a glimpse of the last person she wished to see, of Sally Lee Bitter. She was evidently coming to their house, another moment, and she tapped at the door. John Barton gave an anxious, uneasy side glance. Mary knew that if she delayed answering the knot, Sally would not scruple to enter. So as hastily as if the visit had been desired, she opened the door and stood there with the latch in her hand, barring up all entrance as much as possible, obstructing all curious glances into the interior. Well, Mary Barton, your home at last! I heard you'd gotten home. I thought I'd just step over and hear the news. She was bent on coming in, and saw Mary's preventive design, so she stood on tiptoe, looking over Mary's shoulder into the room, where she suspected a lover to be lurking. But instead she saw only the figure of the stern, gloomy father she had always been in the habit of avoiding. And she dropped down again, content to carry on the conversation where Mary chose, and as Mary chose, in whispers. So the old governor is back again, eh? And what does he say to all your fine-doings at Liverpool and before? You and I know where. You can't hide it now, Mary, for it's all in print! Mary gave a low moan, and then implored Sally to change the subject, for unpleasant as it always was, it was doubly unpleasant in the manner in which she was treating it. If they had been alone, Mary would have borne it patiently, or so she thought. But now she felt almost certain her father was listening. There was a subdued breathing, a slight bracing up of the listless attitude. But there was no arresting Sally's curiosity to hear all she could respecting the adventures Mary had experienced. She, in common with the rest of Miss Simmons' young ladies, was almost jealous of the fame that Mary had obtained, to herself such miserable notoriety. Nay, there's no use shunning talking it over, why it was in the Guardian and the Courier, and someone told Jane Hodgkins it was even copied into a London paper. You've set up heroin on your own account, Mary Barton. How did you like standing witness? Aren't them lawyers impudent things staring at one so I'll be bounded, wish you'd taken my offer, and borrowed my black water-scarf? Now didn't you, Mary, speak truth? To tell truth, I never thought about it then, Sally, how could I? She asked reproachfully. Oh, I forgot you were all for that stupid James Wilson. Well, if I've ever the luck to go witness on a trial, see if I don't pick up a better bow than the prisoner. Oh, I'm at a lawyer's clerk, but I'll not take less than a turnkey. Cast down as Mary was, she could hardly keep from smiling at the idea, so wildly incongruous with the scene she had really undergone, of looking out for admirers during a trial for murderer. I had no thought to be looking out for bows, I can assure you, Sally. But don't let us talk any more about it. I can't bear to think on it. How is Miss Simmons and everybody? Oh, very well, and by the way, she gave me a bit of a message for you. You may come back to work, if you'll behave yourself, she says. I told you she'd be glad to have you back, after all this piece of business, by way of tempting people to come to her shop. That come from Southford to have a peep at you for six months at least. Don't talk so. I cannot come. I can never face Miss Simmons again, and even if I could— she stopped and blushed. I know what you're thinking on, but that will not be this some time. As he's turned off from the foundry, you'd better think twice before refusing Miss Simmons' offer. Turned off from the foundry? Gem! cried Mary. To be sure, didn't you know it? Decent men were not going to work with a— No. I suppose I mustn't say it, seeing you went to such trouble to get up in alibi. Not that I should think much the worse of a spirited young fellow for falling foul of a rival. They always do at the theatre. But Mary's thoughts were with Gem. How good he had been never to name his dismissal to her. How much he had had to endure for her sake. Tell me all about it, she gasped about. Why, you see, they've always soared quite handy at them plays, began Sally. But Mary, with an impatient shake of her head, interrupted. About Gem. About Gem. I want to know. Oh, I don't pretend to know more than he's in everyone's mouth. He's turned away from the foundry because folk don't think you've cleared him out right of the murder, though perhaps the jury were loath to hang him. Old Mr. Carson is savage against judge and jury and lawyers and all, as I heard. I must go to him. I must go to him, repeated Mary in a hurried manner. He'll tell you all I've said is true and not a word of lie, replied Sally. So I'll not give your answers to Miss Simmons, but leave you to think twice about it. Good afternoon. Mary shut the door and turned into the house. Her father sat in the same attitude, the old, unchanging attitude. Only his head was more bowed toward the ground. She put on her bonnet to go to Anne-Coates for sea and question and comfort and worship, Gem, she must. As she hung about her father for an instant before leaving him, he spoke, voluntarily spoke, for the first time since her return, but his head was dripping so low she could not hear what he said. So she stooped down, and after a moment's pause he repeated the words. Tell Gem Wilson to come here at eight o'clock to-night. Could he have overheard her conversation with Sally Leadbitter? The head whispered low, she thought. Pondering on this and many other things, she reached Anne-Coates. End of Chapter 34 Mary Barton Chapter 35 This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain for more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. This recording by Martina. Mary Barton by Elizabeth Cleigh-Horn Gaskell, Chapter 35 Forgive us our trespasses. Oh, had he lived! replied Racilia. Never penitence had equalled his. Full well I know his heart, vehement in all things. He would on himself have rigged such penance as had reached the height of fleshy suffering. Yea, which being told, with his potentious rigour should have made the memory of his fault overpowered and lost in shuddering pity and astonishment, fade like a feeble horror. Southeast Roderick As Mary was turning into the street where the Wilson's lived, Gem overtook her. He came upon her suddenly, and she started. You're going to see mother? he asked tenderly, placing her arm within his and slackening his pace. Yes, and you too? Oh, Gem, is it true? tell me. She felt rightly that he would guess the meaning of her only half-expressed inquiry. He hesitated a moment before he answered her. Darling, it is. It's no use hiding it. If you mean that I am no longer to work at Dumkin's foundry. It's no time, to my mind, to have secrets from each other, though I did not name it yesterday, thinking you might fret. I shall soon get work again, never fear. But why did they turn you off, when the jury had said you were innocent? It was not just to say turned off, though I don't think I could have well stayed on. A good number of the men managed to let out that they should not like to work under me again. There were some few who knew me well enough to feel I could not have done it, but more were doubtful, and one spoke to young Mr. Dumkin hinting at what they thought. Oh, Gem, what a shame! said Mary with mournful indignation. Nay, darling, I'm not for blaming them. Poor fellows like them have not to stand upon and be proud of but their character, and it's fitting they should take care of that, and keep that free from soil and taint. But you! What could they get but good from you? They might have known you by this time. So some do. The overlooker, I'm sure, would know I'm innocent. Indeed, he said as much today, and he said he had had some talk with old Mr. Dumkin, and they thought it might be better if I left Manchester for a bit. They'd recommend me to some other place. But Mary could only shake her head in a mournful way and repeat her words. They might have known thee better, Gem. Gem pressed the little hand he held between his own work-hardened ones. After a minute or two he asked, Mary, are thou much bound to Manchester? Would it grieve thee soar to quit the old smoke-jack? With thee, she asked in a quiet, glancing way, I, lass, trust me, I'll never ask thee to leave Manchester while I'm in it, because I have heard fine things of Canada, and our overlooker has a cousin in the foundry-line there. Thou knows where Canada is, Mary? Not rightly, not now, at any rate. But with thee, Gem, her voice sunk to a soft, low whisper, anywhere. What was the use of a geographical description? But father, said Mary, suddenly breaking that delicious silence with the one sharp discord in her present life. She looked up at her lover's grave-face, and then the message her father had sent flashed across her memory. Oh, Gem, did I tell you? Father sent word he wished to speak with you. I was to bid you to come to him at eight to-night. What can he want, Gem? I cannot tell, he replied. At any rate, I'll go. It's no use troubling ourselves to guess, he continued, after a pause for a few minutes, during which they slowly and silently paced up and down the by-street, into which he had led her when their conversation began. Come and see, mother, and then I'll take thee home, Mary. Thou wilt all in a tremble when first they came up to thee. Thou'd not fit to be trusted home by thyself? He said, with a fond exaggeration of her helplessness. Yet a little more lovers loitering, a few more words, in themselves nothing, to you nothing, but to those two. What tender, passionate language can I use to express the feelings which thrilled through that young man and maiden, as they listened to the syllables made dear and lovely through life by that hour's low, whispered talk? It struck the half-hour, past seven. Come and speak to mother. She knows you're to be her daughter, Mary, darling. So they went in. Jane Wilson was rather chafed at her son's delay in returning home, for as yet he had managed to keep her in ignorance of his dismissal from the foundry, and it was her way to prepare some little pleasure, some little comfort for those she loved, and if they, unwittingly, did not appear at the proper time to enjoy her preparation, she worked herself up into a state of fretfulness which found vent in upgrading so soon as ever the objects of her care appeared, thereby marring the peace which should ever be the atmosphere of a home, however humble, and causing a feeling almost amounting to loathing to arrive at the sight of the stalled ox, which, though in effect and proof of careful love, had been the cause of so much disturbance. Mrs. Wilson had first sighed and then grumbled to herself over the increasing toughness of the potato cakes she had made for her son's tea. The door opened, and he came in, his face brightening into proud smiles, Mary Barton hanging on his arm, blushing and dimpling, with eyelids veiling the happy light of her eyes. There was around the young couple a radiant atmosphere, a glory of happiness. Could his mother mire it? Could she break into it with her Martha-like cares? Only for one moment did she remember her sense of injury, her wasted trouble, and then her whole woman's heart heaving with motherly love and sympathy. She opened her arms and received Mary into them, as shedding tears of agitated joy she murmured in her ear, She murmured in her ear, Bless thee, Mary, bless thee, Only make him happy, And God bless thee for ever. It took some of Jem's self-command to separate those whom he so much loved, and who were beginning, for his sake, to love one another so dearly. But the time for his meeting John Barton drew on, and it was a long way to his house. As they walked briskly thither, they hardly spoke, their many thoughts were in their minds. The sun had not long set, but the first faint shade of twilight was overall, and when they opened the door, Jem could hardly perceive the objects within by the waning light of day and the flickering fireside blaze. But Mary saw all at a glance. Her eye, accustomed to what was usual in the aspect of the room, saw instantly what was unusual, saw and understood it all. Her father was standing behind his habitual chair, holding by the back of it her as if for support. And opposite to him there stood Mr. Carson, the dark outline of his stern figure looming large against the light of the fire in that little room. Behind her father sat Joe Blea, his head in his hands, and resting his elbow on the little family table, listening evidently, but as evidently deeply affected by what he heard. There seemed to be some pause in the conversation. Mary and Jem stalled at the half-open door, not daring to stir, hardly to breathe. And have I heard you a right? began Mr. Carson, with his deep quivering voice. Men, have I heard you a right? Was it you, then, that killed my boy, my only son? He said these last few words almost as if appealing for pity. And then he changed his tone to one more vehement and fierce. Don't dare to think that I shall be merciful and spare you, because you have come forward to accuse yourself. I tell you I will not spare you the least paying the law can inflict. You, who did not show pity on my boy, shall have none from me. I did not ask for any. Said John Barton in a low voice. Ask or not ask, what care I? You shall be hanged. Hanged, man! said he, advancing his face and repeating the word with slow, grinding emphasis, as if to infuse some of the bitterness of his soul into it. John Barton gasped, but not with fear. It was only that he felt it terrible to have inspired such hatred. It was concentrated into every word, every gesture of Mr. Carson's. As for being hanged, sir, I know it's all right and proper. I dare say it's bad enough, but I tell you what, sir. Speaking with an outburst, if you'd hanged me the day after I'd done the deed, I would have gone down on my knees and blessed you. Death! Lord, what is it to life? To such a life as I have been leading this fortnight past. Life at his best is no great thing, but such a life as I have been dragged through since that night. He shouted at the thought. Why, sir, I have been on the point of killing myself this many a time to get away from my own thoughts. I didn't, and I tell you why. I didn't know but that I should be more haunted than ever with the recollection of my sin. Oh! God above can only tell the agony with which I have repented me of it, and part perhaps because I feared he would think I were impatient of the misery he sent as punishment. Far, far worse misery than any hanging, sir. He ceased from excess emotion. Then he began again. Sin, that day, it may be very wicked, sir, but it's the truth. I've kept thinking and thinking if I were but in that world where they say God is, he would, maybe, teach me right from wrong, even if it were with many stripes. I've been sore puzzled here. I would go through hellfire if I could but get free from sin at last. It's such an awful thing. As for hanging, that's just not at all. His exhaustion compelled him to sit down. Mary rushed to him. It seemed as if till then he had been unaware of her presence. I went, he said feebly. Is it thee? Where's Gem Wilson? Gem came forward. John Barton spoke again, with many a break and gasping pause. Lad, thou hast borne a deal for me. It's the meanest thing I ever did to leave thee to bear the brunt. Thou who were't as innocent of any knowledge of it as a babe unborn. I'll not bless thee for it. Blessing from such as me would not bring thee any good. Thou'd love Mary, though she is my child. He ceased, and there was a pause for a few seconds. Then Mr. Carson turned to go. When his hand was on the latch of the door he hesitated for an instant. You can have no doubt, for what purpose I go, straight to the police office, to send men to take care of you, wretched man and your accomplice. Tomorrow morning your tale shall be repeated to those who can commit you to jail, and before long you shall have the opportunity of trying how desirable hanging is. Oh, sir, said Mary, springing forward and catching hold of Mr. Carson's arm, my father is dying. Look at him. Sir, if you want death for death, you have it. Don't take him away from me these last hours. He must go alone through death. But let me be with him as long as I can. Oh, sir, if you have any mercy in you, leave him here to die. John himself stood up, stiff and rigid, and replied, Mary wench, I o' him summoned. I will go die. I will go die. Wear, and as he wishes me. Thou hast said true. I am standing side by side with death. And it matters little where I spend the bit of my time left of life. That time I must pass, wrestling with my soul for a character to take into the other world. I go where you see fit, sir. He's innocent, faintly indicating Jim as he fell back in his chair. Never fear, they cannot touch him," said Jobly in a low voice. But as Mr. Carson was on the point of leaving the house with no sign of relenting about him, he was again stopped by John Barton, who had risen once more from his chair, and stood supporting himself from Jim while he spoke. Sir, one word. My hair's a grey with suffering, and yours with years. And have I had no suffering? Asked Mr. Carson, as if appealing for sympathy, even to the murder of his child. And the murder of his child answered to the appeal, and groaned in spirit over the anguish he had caused. Have I had no inward suffering to blanch these hairs? Have not I toiled and struggled even to these years with hopes in my heart that all centered in my boy? I did not speak of them. But were they not there? I seemed tired and cold, and so I might be to others, but not to him. Who shall ever imagine the love I bore to him? Even he never dreamed how my heart leapt up at the sound of his footstep, and how precious he was to his poor old father. And he is gone, killed, out of the hearing of all loving words, out of my sight for ever. He was my sunshine, and now it is night. Oh, my! God comfort me, comfort me! cried the old man aloud. The eyes of John Barton grew dim with tears, rich and poor, masters and men, were then brothers in the deep suffering of the heart. For was not this the very anguish he had felt for little Tom, in years so long gone by, that they seemed like another life? The mourner before him was no longer the employer, a being of another race, eternally placed in antagonistic attitude, going through the world glittering like gold with a stony heart within, which knew no sorrow but through the accidents of trade, no longer the enemy, the oppressor, but a very poor and desolate old man. The sympathy for suffering, formerly so prevalent of feeling with him, again filled John Barton's heart and almost impealed him to speak, as best he could, some earnest tender words to the stern man, shaking in his agony. But who was he, that he should utter sympathy or consolation, the cause of all this woe? Oh, blasting thought, oh, miserable remembrance! He had forefeated all right to bind up his brother's wounds. Stunned by the thought, he sank upon the seat, almost crushed with the knowledge of the consequence of his own action. For he had no more imagined to himself the blighted home and the miserable parents, than does the soldier, who discharges his musket, picture to himself the desolation of the wife and the pitiful cries of the helpless little ones, who are in an instant to be made widowed and fatherless, to intimidate a class of men, known only to those below them as desirous to obtain the greatest quantity of work for the lowest wages, at most to remove an overbearing partner from an obnoxious firm, who stood in the way of those who struggled as well as they were able to obtain their rights. This was the light in which John Barton had viewed his deed, and even so viewing it after the excitement had passed away, the Avenger, the sure Avenger, had found him out. But now he knew that he had killed a man, and a brother. Now he knew that no good thing could come out of him this evil, even to the sufferers whose cause he had so blindly espoused. He lay across the table, broken-hearted. Every fresh, quivering sob of Mr. Carson stabbed him to his soul. He felt execrated by all. And, as if he could never lay bare the perverted reasonings which had made the performance of undoubted sin appear a duty. The longing to plead some faint excuse grew stronger and stronger. He feebly raised his head, and looking at Jobly, he whispered out, I did not know what I was doing, Jobly. God knows I didn't. Oh, sir! he said, wildly, almost throwing himself at Mr. Carson's feet. Say, you forgive me the anguish I now see I have caused you. I care not for pain or death. You know I don't. But, oh, man, forgive me the trespass I have done. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us, said Job, solemnly, and low, as if in prayer, as if the words were suggested by those John Barton had used. Mr. Carson took his hands away from his face. I would rather see death than the ghastly gloom which darkened that countenance. Let my trespasses be unforgiven so that I may have vengeance for my son's murder. There are blasphemous actions as well as blasphemous words. All unloving cruel deeds are acts of blasphemy. Mr. Carson left the house, and John Barton lay on the ground as one dead. They lifted him up, and almost hoping that that deep trance might be to him the end of all earthly things they bore him to his bed. For a time they listened with divided attention to his faint breathings. For in each hasty hurried step that echoed in the street outside they thought they heard the approach of the officers of justice. When Mr. Carson left the house, he was dizzy with agitation. The hot blood went careering through his frame. He could not see the deep blue of the night heavens for the fierce pulses which throbbed in his head, and partly to steady and calm himself, he leaned against a railing, and looked up into those calm, majestic depths with all their thousand stars. And by and by his own voice returned upon him, as if the last words he had spoken were being uttered through all that infinite space. But in their echoes there was a tone of unutterable sorrow. Let my trespasses be unforgiven so that I may have vengeance for my son's murder. He tried to shake off the spiritual impression made by this imagination. He was feverish and ill, and no wonder. He turned to go homewards, not as he had threatened to the police office. After all, he told himself, that would do in the morning. No fear of the man's escaping, unless he escaped to the grave. So he tried to banish the phantom voices and shapes which came unbidden to his brain, and to recall his balance of mind by walking calmly and slowly, and noticing everything which struck his senses. It was a soft warm evening in spring, and there were many persons in the streets. Among others a nurse, with a little girl in her charge, conveying her home from some children's gaiety, a dance most likely, for the lovely little creature was daintily decked out in soft snowy muslin, and her fairy feet tripped along by her nurse's side, as if to the measure of some tune she had lately kept time to. Suddenly, up behind her, there came a rough, rude errand boy, nine or ten years of age, a giant he looked by the fairy child, as she fluttered along. I don't know how it was, but in some awkward way he knocked the poor little girl down upon the hard pavement as he brushed rudely past, not much caring whom he hurt, so that he got along. The child arose sobbing with pain, and not without cause, for blood was dropping down from the face but a minute before so fair and bright, dropping down on the pretty frock, making those scarlet marks so terrible to little children. The nurse, a powerful woman, had seized the boy, just as Mr. Carson, who had seen the whole transaction, came up. You naughty little rascal! I'll give you to a policeman that I will. Do you see how you've hurt the little girl, do you? Accompanying every sentence with a violent jerk of passionate anger. The lad looked hard and defying, but with all terrified at the threat of the policeman. Those ogres of our street, to all unlucky urchins. The nurse saw it and began to drag him along, with a view of making what she called a wholesome impression. His terror increased, and with it his irritation, when the little sweet face, choking away at Sob's, pulled down nurse's head and said, Please, dear nurse, I'm not much hurt. It was very silly to cry, you know. He did not mean to do it. He did not know what he was doing. Did you, little boy? Nurse won't call a policeman. So don't be frightened. And she put up her little mouth to be kissed by her injured, just as she had been taught to do at home, to make peace. The lad will mind and be more gentle for the time to come. I'll be bound thanks to that little lady. Said a passer-by, half to himself, and half to Mr. Carson, whom he observed to notice the scene. The latter took no apparent heed of the remark, but passed on. But the child's pleading reminded him of the low, broken voice he had so lately heard, penitently and humbly urging the same extenuation of his great guilt. I did not know what I was doing. He had some association with those words. He had heard, or read, of that plea somewhere before. Where was it? Could it be? He would look when he got home. So when he entered his house, he went straight and silently upstairs to his library, and took down the great, large, handsome Bible, all grand and golden, with its leaves adhering together from the bookbinders' press. So little had it been used. On the first page, which fell open to Mr. Carson's view, were written the names of his children and his own. Henry John, son of the above John and Elizabeth Carson, born September 29, 1815. To make the entry complete, his death should now be added. But the page became hidden by the gathering mists of tears. Thought upon thought, and recollection upon recollection came crowding in, from the remembrance of the proud day when he had purchased the costly book in order to write down the birth of the little babe of a day old. He lay his head down upon the open page, and let the tears fall slowly on the spotless leaves. His son's murderer was discovered, had confessed his guilt, and yet, strange to say, he could not hate him with the vehemence of hatred he had felt when he had imagined him a young man full of lusty life, defying all laws, human and divine. In spite of his desire to retain the revengeful feeling he considered as his duty to his dead son, something of pity would still in for the poor, wasted skeleton of a man, the smitten creature who had told him of his sin, and implored his pardon that night. In the days of his childhood and youth, Mr. Carson had been accustomed to poverty, but it was honest decent poverty. Not the grinding, squalid misery he had remarked in every part of John Barton's house, and which contrasted strangely with the pompous sumptuousness of the room in which he now sat. Unaccustomed wonder filled his mind at the reflection of the different lots of the brethren of mankind. Then he roused himself from his reverie, and turned to the object of his search. The Gospel, where he half-expected to find the tender pleading, they know not what they do. It was merc midnight by this time, and the house was still and quiet. There was nothing to interrupt the old man in his unwanted study. Years ago the Gospel had been his task-book in learning to read, so many years ago that he had become familiar with the events before he could comprehend the spirit that made the life. He fell to the narrative now afresh, with all the interest of a little child. He began at the beginning, and read on almost greedily, understanding for the first time the full meaning of the story. He came to the end, the awful end, and there were the haunting words of pleading. He shut the book and thought deeply. All night long the archangel combated with the demon. All night long others watched by the bed of death. John Barton had revived to fitful intelligence. He spoke at times with even something of his former energy, and in the racy Lancashire dialect he had always used when speaking freely. You see, I've so often been hankering after the right way, and it's a hard one for a poor man to find. At least it's been so to me. No one learned me, and no one told me. When I was a little chap they taught me to read, and then they never gave no books, only I heard say the Bible was a good book. So when I grew thoughtful and puzzled, I took to it. But you'd never believe black was black or night was night. When you saw all about you acting as if black was white and night was day. It's not much I can say for myself in the other world. God forgive me, but I can say this. I would feign have gone after the Bible rules if I had seen folk credit it. They all spoke up for it, and went and did clean contrary. In those days I would have gone about with my Bible, like a little child, my finger in the place and asking the meaning of this or that text, and no one told me. Then I took out two or three texts as clear as glass, and tried to do what they bid me do. But I don't know how it was. Masters and men, all alike cared no more for minding those texts than I did for the Lord Mayor of London. So I grew to think it must be a sham put upon poor ignorant folk, women and such like. It was not long I tried to live gospel-wise, but which was like a heaven than any other bit of earth had seen. I'd old Alice to strengthen me, but everyone else said stand up for thy rights or thou'd never get them. And wife and children never spoke. But their helplessness cried aloud and I was driven to do as others did. And then Tom died. You know all about them. I'm getting scared of breath and blind like. Then again he spoke, after some minutes of hushed silence. All along it came natural to love folk, though now I am what I am. I think one time I could even have loved the Masters if they had letten me. That was in my gospel days before my child died of hunger. I was tore in too often times between my sorrow for the poor suffering folk and my love to try them as caused their suffering to my mind. At last I give up into spare trying to make folk's actions square with the Bible, and I thought I'd no longer labor at following the Bible myself. I've said all this afore maybe, but from that time I've dropped down, down, down. After that he only spoke in broken sentences. I did not like to think he'd been such an old man. Oh that he had but forgiven me! And then came earnest, passionate, broken words of prayer. Job Lee had gone home like one struck down with an unexpected shock. Mary and Jim together waited the approach of death. But as the final struggle drew on, and mourning dawned, Jim suggested some alleviation to the gasping breath, to purchase which he had left the house and searched for a drugger's shop which should be open at that early hour. During his absence Barton grew worse. He had fallen across the bed and his breathing seemed almost stopped. In vain did Mary strive to raise him. Her sorrow and exhaustion had rendered her too weak. So on hearing someone enter the house place below she cried out for Jim to come to her assistance. A step, which was not Jim's, came up the stairs. Mr. Carson stood in the doorway. In one instant he comprehended the case. He raised up the powerless frame and the departing soul looked out of the eyes with gratitude. He held the dying man propped in his arms. John Barton folded his hands as if in prayer. Pray for us, said Mary, sinking on her knees and forgetting in that solemn hour all that had divided her father and Mr. Carson. No other words would suggest themselves than some of those he had read only a few hours before. God be merciful to us sinners. Forgive us our trespassers as we forgive them that trespass against us. And when the words were said, John Barton lay a corpse in Mr. Carson's arms. So ended the tragedy of a poor man's life. Mary knew nothing more for many minutes. When she recovered consciousness she found herself supported by Jim on the settle in the house place. Job and Mr. Carson were there, talking together lowly and solemnly. Then Mr. Carson bade farewell and left the house. And Job said aloud, but as if speaking to himself, God has heard that man's prayer he has comforted him. End of Chapter 35 Chapter 36 of Mary Barton This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Stephanie DuPaul de Martin. Mary Barton by Elizabeth Clegg Horngaskel Chapter 36 Gems interview with Mr. Duncombe The first dark day of nothingness, the last of danger and distress. Byron Although Mary had hardly been conscious of her thoughts and it had been more like a secret instinct informing her soul than the result of any process of reasoning, she had felt for some time ever since her return from Liverpool in fact that for her father there was but one thing to be desired and anticipated and that was death. She had seen that conscience had given the mortal wound to his earthly frame. She did not dare to question of the infinite mercy of God what the future life would be to him. Though at first desolate and stunned by the below which had fallen on herself, she was resigned and submissive as soon as she recovered strength enough to ponder and consider a little and you may be sure that no tenderness or love was wanting on Gems' part and no consideration and sympathy on that of Job and Margaret to soothe and comfort the girl who now stood alone in the world as far as the blood relations were concerned. She did not ask or care to know what arrangements they were making in whispered tones with regard to the funeral. She put herself into their hands with the trust of a little child, glad to be undisturbed in the reveries and remembrances which filled her eyes with tears and caused them to fall quietly down her pale cheeks. It was the longest day she had ever known in her life. Every change and every occupation was taken away from her but perhaps the length of quiet time thus afforded was really good although its duration weighed upon her for by this means she contemplated her situation in every light and fully understood that the morning's event had left her an orphan and thus she was spared the pangs caused to us by the occurrence of death in the evening just before we should naturally in the usual course of events lie down to slumber for in such case worn out by anxiety and it may be by much watching our very excess of grief rocks itself to sleep before we have had time to realize its cause and we awaken with a start of agony like a fresh stab to the consciousness of the one awful vacancy which shall never while the world endures be filled again the day brought its burden of duty to mrs wilson she felt bound by regard as well as by etiquette to go and see her future daughter-in-law and by an old association of ideas perhaps of death with churchards and churches with sunday she thought it necessary to put on her best and laterally unused clothes the airing of which on a little clothes horse before the fire seemed to give her a not and pleasing occupation when jammer turned home late in the evening succeeding john barton's death wary and oppressed with the occurrences and excitements of the day he found his mother busy about her mourning and much inclined to talk although he longed for quiet he could not avoid sitting down and answering her questions well gem he's gone at last is he yes how did you hear mother oh jove came over here and told me on his way to the undertakers did he make a fine end it struck gem that she had not heard of the confession which had been made by john barton on his deathbed he remembered jove legs discretion and he determined that if it could be avoided his mother should never hear of it many of the difficulties to be anticipated in preserving the secret would be obviated if he could induce his mother to fall into the plan he had named to marry of emigrating to canada the reasons which rendered the secrecy desirable related to the domestic happiness he hoped for with his mother's irritable temper he could hardly expect that all illusion to the crime of john barton would be forever restrained from passing her lips and he knew the deep trial which such references would be to marry accordingly he resolved as soon as possible in the morning to go to jove and beseech his silence he trusted that secrecy in that quarter even if the knowledge had been extended to margaret might be easily secured but what would be mr. karson's course were there any means by which he might be persuaded to spare john barton's memory he was roused up from this train of thought by his mother's more irritated tone of voice jam she was saying thou might just as well never be at a deathbed again if thou cannot bring off more news about it here i have been by myself all day except when old job came in but thinks i when jem comes he'll be sure to be good company seeing he was in the house at the very time of the death and hear thou out without a word to throw at a dog much less like mother it's no use that going to a deathbed if thou cannot carry away any of the sayings he did not make any mother replied jem well to be sure so fond as he used to be of holding forth to miss such a fine opportunity that will never come again did he die easy he was very restless all night long said jam reluctantly returning to the thoughts of that time and in course thou plucked the pillow away thou didst not well with thy bringing up and thy learning thou might have known that were the only help in such a case there are pigeons feathers in the pillow depend on to think of two grown-up folk like you and mary not knowing death could never come easy to a person lying on a pillow with pigeons feathers in jem was glad to escape from all this talking to the solitude and quiet of his own room where he could lie and think uninterruptedly of what had happened and remain to be done the first thing was to seek an interview with mr duncombe his former master accordingly early the next morning jem set off on his walk to the works where for so many years his days had been spent where for so long a time his thoughts had been thought his hopes and fears experienced it was not a cheering feeling to remember that hence forward he was to be severed from all these familiar places no were his parents enlivened by the evident feelings of the majority of those who had been his fellow workmen as he stood in the entrance to the foundry awaiting mr duncombe's leisure many of those employed in the works passed him on their return from breakfast and with one or two exceptions without any acknowledgement of former acquaintance beyond a distant nod at the utmost it is hard said jem to himself with a bitter and indignant feeling rising in his throat that let a man's life be what it may folk are so ready to credit the first word against him i could live it down if i stayed in england but then what would not mary have to bear sooner or later the truth would out and then she would be a show to folk for many a day as john barton's daughter well god does not judge as hardly as man that's one comfort for all of us mr duncombe did not believe in jem's guilt in spite of this silence in which he again this day heard the imputation of it but he agreed that under the circumstances it was better he should leave the country we have been written to by government as i think i told you before to recommend an intelligent man well acquainted with mechanics as instrument maker to the agricultural college they are establishing at toronto in canada it is a comfortable appointment house land and a good percentage on the instruments made i will show you the particulars if i can lay my hand on the letter which i believe i must have left at home thank you sir no need for seeing the letter to say i'll accept it i must leave manchester and i'd as leaf quit england at once when i'm about it of course government will give you your passage indeed i believe in the lungs will be made for a family if you had one but you're not a married man unbelieve no sir but jem hung back from a confession from the awkwardness of a girl but said mr duncombe smiling you would like to be a married man before you go i suppose a wilson if you please sir and there's my mother too i hope she'll go with us but i can pay her passage no need to trouble government nay nay i'll write today and recommend you and say that you have a family of two they'll never ask if the family goes upwards or downwards i shall see you again before you sail i hope wilson though i believe they'll not allow you long to wait come to my house next time you'll find it pleasant her i dare say these men are so wrong-headed keep up your heart jem felt that it was a relief to have this point settled and that he need no longer way reasons for and against his immigration and with this path growing clearer and clearer before him the longer he contemplated it he went to see mary and if he judged it fit to tell her what he had decided upon margaret was sitting with her grandfather wants to see you said she did gem on his entrance and i want to see him replied jem suddenly remembering his last night's determination to enjoin secrecy on joe blake so he hardly stayed to kiss poor mary's sweet wobe gone face but tore himself away from his darling to go to the old man who awaited him impatiently i've gotten a note from mr karson exclaim joe the moment he saw jem and man alive he wants to see the enemy for sure there's no more mischief up is there said he looking at jem with an expression of wonder but if any suspicion mingled for an instant with the thoughts that crossed joe's mind it was immediately dispelled by jem's honest fearless open countenance i can't guess what he's wanting poor old chap answered he maybe there's some point he's not yet satisfied on maybe but it's no use guessing let's be off it wouldn't be better for thee to be scarce a bit would it and leave me to go and find out what's up he has perhaps gotten some crotchet into his head the art and accomplice and is laying a trap for thee i'm not a feared said jem i've done not wrong and know not wrong about young poor dead lad though i'll own i had evil thoughts once on a time folk can't mistake long if once they'll search into the truth i'll go and give the old gentleman all the satisfaction my power now it can't endure no one i'd my reasons for wanting to see him sides and it all falls in right enough for me joe was a little reassured by jem's boldness but still if the truth must be told he wished the young man would follow his advice and leave him to sound mr karson's intentions meanwhile jane wilson had dawned her sunday suit of black and set off on her errand of condolence she felt nervous and uneasy at the idea of the moral sayings and texts which she fancied were expected from visitors on occasions like the present and prepared many a good set speech as she walked towards the house of mourning as she gently opened the door mary sitting idly by the fire caught a glimpse of her of jem's mother of the early friend of her dead parents of the kind minister to many a little want in days of childhood and rose and came and fell about her neck with many a sob and moan saying oh he's gone he's dead all gone all dead and i am left alone poor wench poor poor wench said jane wilson tenderly kissing her thou art not alone so do not take on so i'll say not of him who's above and for thou knowest he is ever the orphan's friend but think on jem name mary dear think on me i'm but a frabbit woman at times but i've a heart within me through all my temper and thou shalt be as a daughter hence forward as mine own you lamb jem shall not love thee better in his way than i will in mind and they'll bear with my turns mary knowing that in my soul god sees the love that shall ever be thine if thou take me for thy mother and speak no more of being alone mrs wilson was weeping herself long before she had ended the speech which was so different to all she had planned to say and from all the formal piety she had laid in store for the visit for this was heart's piety and needed no garnish of text to make a true religion pure and undefiled they sat together on the same chair their arms encircling each other they wept for the same dead they had the same hope and trust and overflowing love in the living from that time forward hardly a passing cloud dimmed the happy confidence of their intercourse even by jem would his mother's temper sooner be irritated than by mary before the latter she repressed her occasional nervous ill humor till the habit of indulging it was perceptibly decreased years afterwards in conversation with jem he was straddled by a chance expression which dropped from his mother's lips it implied a knowledge of john barton's crime it was many a long day since they had seen any manchester people who could have revealed the secret if indeed it was known manchester against which jam had guarded in every possible way and he was led to inquire first as to the extent and then as to the source of her knowledge it was mary herself who had told all from the morning to which this chapter principally relates as mary sat weeping and as mrs wilson comforted her by every tenderest word and crest she revealed to the dismayed and astonished jane the sting of her deep sorrow the crime which stained her dead father's memory she was quite unconscious that jam had kept its secret from his mother she had imagined it brood to the broad as the suspicion against her lover had been so word after word dropped from her lips in the supposition that mrs wilson newall had told the tale and revealed the cause of her deep anguish deeper than is ever caused by death alone on large occasions like the present mrs wilson's innate generosity came out her weak and ailing frame imparted its irritation to her conduct in small things in daily trifles but she had deep and noble sympathy with great sorrows and even at the time that mary spoke she allowed no expression of surprise or horror to escape her lips she gave way to no curiosity as to the untold details she was a secret and trustworthy as her son himself and if in years to come her anger was occasionally excited against mary and she on rare occasions yielded to ill temper against her daughter-in-law she would upgrade her for extravagance or stinginess or over-dressing or under-dressing or too much mirth or too much gloom but never in her most uncontrolled moments did she allude to anyone the circumstances relating to mary's flirtation with harry karson or his murderer and always when she spoke of john barton named him with the respect due to his conduct before the last miserable guilty month of his life therefore it came like a blow to jem when after years had passed away he gathered his mother's knowledge of the whole affair from the day when he learned not without remorse what hidden depths of self-restraint she had in her soul his manner to her always tender and respectful became reverential and it was more than ever loving strife between him and mary which should most contribute towards the happiness of the declining years of their mother but i am speaking of the events which have occurred only lately while i have yet many things to tell you that happened six or seven years ago end of chapter 36 recording by stefanie dupald martin chapter 37 of mary barton this is a liber vox recording all liber vox recordings earn the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit liber vox.org recording by stefanie dupald martin mary barton by elizabeth kleighorn gaskell chapter 37 details connected with the murder the rich man dines while the poor man pines and eats his heart away they teach us lies he's journey cries would brothers do as they the dream mr. karson stood at one of the breathing moments of life the object of the toils the fears and the wishes of his past years was suddenly hidden from his sight vanished into the deep mystery which circumscribes existence nay even the vengeance which he had cherished taken away from before his eyes as by the hand of god events like these would have startled the most thoughtless into reflection much more such a man as mr. karson whose mind if not enlarged was energetic indeed whose very energy having been hither to the cause of the employment of his powers in only one direction had prevented him from becoming largely and philosophically comprehensive in his views but now the foundations of his past life were raised to the ground and the place they had once occupied was to be rebuilt no more forever it was like the change from this life to that other hidden one on so many of the motives which have actuated all our earthly existence will have become more fleeting than the shadows of a dream with the wrench of his soul from the past so much of which was as nothing and worse than nothing to him now mr. karson took some hours after he had witnessed the death of his son's murderer to consider his situation but suddenly while he was deliberating and searching for motives which should be effective to compel him to exertion and action once more while he contemplated the desire after riches social distinction a name among the merchant princes amidst whom he moved and saw these false substances fade away into the shadows they truly are and one by one disappear into the grave of his son suddenly i say the thought arose within him that more than yet remain to be learned about the circumstances and feelings which had prompted john barton's crime and when once this mournful curiosity was excited it seemed to gather strength in every moment that its gratification was delayed accordingly he sent a message to summon joe blake and jem wilson from whom he promised himself some elucidation of what was as yet unexplained while he himself set forth to call on mr. bridge north whom he knew to have been jem's attorney with a glimmering suspicion intruding on his mind which he strove to repel that jem might have had some share in his son's death he had returned before his summoned visitors arrived and had time enough to recur to the evening on which john barton had made his confession he remembered with mortification how he had forgotten his proud reserve and his habitual concealment of his feelings and had laid bare his agony of grief in the presence of these two men who were coming to see him by his desire and he entrenched himself behind stiff barriers of self-control through which he hoped no appearance of emotion would force its way in the conversation he anticipated nevertheless when the servant announced the two men were there by appointment to speak to him and he had desired that they might be shown to the library where he sat any watcher might have perceived by the trembling hands and shaking head not only how much he was aged by the occurrences of the last few weeks but also how much he was agitated at the thought of the impeding interview but he so far succeeded in commanding himself at first as to appear to jem wilson and joe blake one of the hardest and most haughty men they had ever spoken to and to forfeit all the interest which he had previously excited in their minds by his unreserved display of deep and genuine feeling when he had desired them to be seated he shaded his face with his hand for an instant before speaking i've been calling on mr bridge north this morning said he at last as i expected he can give me but little satisfaction on some points respecting the occurrence on the 18th of last month which i desire to have cleared up perhaps you two can tell me what i want to know as intimate friends of bartons you probably know or king conjecture a good deal have no scruple as to speaking the truth what you say in this room shall never be named again by me besides you aware that the law allows no one to be tried twice for the same offense he stopped for a minute for the mere act of speaking was fatiguing to him after the excitement of the last few days joe blake took the opportunity of speaking i'm not going to be affronted either for myself or gem at what you've just now been saying about the truth you don't know us and there's an end on only it's as well for folk to think others good and true until they've proved contrary ask what you like sir i'll answer for it we'll either tell the truth or hold our tongues i beg your pardon said mr carcent slightly bowing his head what i wish to know was referring to a slip of paper he held in his hand and shaking so much he could hardly adjust his glasses to his eyes whether you wilson can explain how barton came possessed of your gun i believe you refuse this explanation to mr bridge north i did sir if i had said what i knew then i saw it would discriminate barton and so i refused telling ought to you sir now i will tell everything and anything only it is but little the gun was my father's before it was mine and long ago he and john barton had a fancy for shooting at the gallery and they used always to take this gun and brag that though it was old fashioned it was sure gem saw with self-abraiding pain how mr carcent winced at these last words but at each irrepressible and involuntary evidence of feeling the hearts of the two men warmed towards him gem went on speaking one day in the week i think it was on wednesday yes it was it was on st patrick's day i met john just coming out of our house as i were going to my dinner mother was out and he'd found no one in he said he'd come to borrow the old gun and that he'd have made bold and taken it but it was not to be seen mother was afraid of it so after father's death for while he was alive she seemed to think he could manage it i had carried it to my own room i went up and fetched it for john who stood outside the door all the time what did he say he wanted it for asked mr carcent hastily i don't think he spoke when i gave it him at first he muttered something about the shooting gallery and i never doubted but that it was for practice there as i knew he had done years before mr carcent had strung up his frame to an attitude of upright attention while gem was speaking now the tension relaxed and he sank back in his chair weak and powerless he rose up again however as gem went on anxious to give every particular which could satisfy their bereaved father i never knew for what he wanted the gun till i was taken up i do not know yet why he wanted it no one would have had me get out of the scrape by implicating an old friend my father's old friend and the father of the girl i loved so i refused to tell mr bridgenorth odd about it and would not have named it now to anyone but you gem's face became very red at the illusion he made to marry but his honest fearless eyes had met mr carcent's penetrating gaze unflinchingly and had carried conviction of his innocence and truthfulness mr carcent felt certain that he had heard all that gem could tell accordingly he turned to job leg you were in the room the whole time while barton was speaking to me i think yes sir answered job you'll excuse my asking plain and direct questions the information i am gaining is really a relief to my mind i don't know how but it is will you tell me if you had any idea of barton's guilt in this matter before none whatever so help me god said job solemnly to tell the truth and axing your forgiveness gem i had never got quite sure of the notion that gem here had done it at times i was as clear of his innocence as i was of my own and whenever i took to reasoning about it i saw he could not have been the man that did it still i never thought of barton and yet by his confession he must have been absent at the time said mr carcent referring to his slip of paper i for many a day after i can't rightly say how long but still you see one's often blind to many a thing that lies right under one's nose till it's pointed out until i heard what john barton had to say your night i could not have seen what reason he had for doing it and while in the case of gem anyone who looked at mary barton might have seen a cause for jealousy clear enough and you believe that barton had no knowledge of my son's unfortunate he looked at gem of his attentions to mary barton this young man wilson had heard of him you see the person who told me said clearly she neither had nor would tell mary's father interposed gem i don't believe he'd ever heard of it he weren't a man to keep still in such a matter if he had besides said job the reason he gave on his deathbed so to speak was enough especially to those who knew him you mean his feelings regarding the treatment of the workmen by the masters you think he acted for motives of revenge in consequence of the part my son had taken in putting down the strike well sir replied job it's hard to say john barton was not a man to take counsel with people nor did he make many words about his doings so i can only judge from his way of thinking and talking in general never having heard and breathe a syllable concerning this matter in particular you see he was sadly put about to make great riches and great poverty square with christ gospel job paused in order to try and express what was clear enough in his own mind as to the effect produced on john barton by the great and mocking contrast presented by the varieties of human condition before he could find suitable words to explain his meaning mr. karson spoke you mean he was an onite all for equality and community of goods and that kind of absurdity no no john barton was no fool no need to tell him that we're all men equal to tonight some would get the start by rising an hour earlier tomorrow nor yet did he care for goods nor wealth no man less so that he could get daily bread for him and his what hurt him so and the wrinkled in him as long as i knew him and sir it wrinkles in many a poor man's heart far more than the want of any creature comforts and puts a sting into starvation itself was that those who wore finer clothes and eat better food and have more money in their pockets kept him at arm's length and cared not whether his heart was sorry or glad whether he lived or died whether he was bound for heaven or hell seemed hard to him that a heap of gold should part him in his brother so far sonda for he was a loving man before he grew mad with seeing such as he was slighted as if christ himself had not been poor at one time i've heard him say he felt kindly towards every man richer poor because he thought they were all men alike but laterally he grew aggravated with the sorrows and sufferings that he saw in which he thought the masters might help if they would that's the notion you've all of you got said mr. Carson now how in the world can we help it we cannot regulate the demand for labor no manner set of men can do it it depends on events which god alone can control when there's no market for our goods we suffer just as much as you can do not as much i'm sure sir though i'm not giving to political economy i know that much i'm wanting and learning i'm aware but i can use my eyes never see the masters getting thin and haggard for want of food hardly ever see them making much change in their way of living though i don't doubt they've got to do it in bad times but it's in things for sure they cut short while for such as me it's in things for life we've distinct for sure sir alone it's come to a hard pass when a man should give up in the world for work to keep his children from starving and can't get a bit if he's ever so willing to labor i'm not up to talking as john barton would have done but that's clear to me at any rate my good man just listen to me two men live in solitude one produces loaves of bread the other coats or what you will now would it not be hard if the bread producer were forced to give bread for the coats whether he wanted them or not in order to furnish employment to the other that is a simple form of the case you've only to multiply the numbers there will come times of great changes in the occupation of thousands when improvements in manufacturers and machinery are made it's all nonsense talking it must be so job leg pondered a few moments it's true it was a sore time for the hand loom weavers when power looms came in them new fangled things make a man's life like a lottery and yet i'll never misdoubt that power looms and railways and all such like inventions are the gifts of god i have lived long enough to to see that it is a part of his plan to send suffering to bring out a higher good but surely it's also a part of his plan that so much of the burden of the suffering as can be should be lightened by those whom it is his pleasure to make happy and content in their own circumstances of course it would take a deal more thought and wisdom than me or any other man has to settle out of a hand how this should be done but i'm clear about this when god gives a blessing to be enjoyed he gives it with a duty to be done and the duty of the happy is to help the suffering to bear their own still facts have proved in our daily proving how much better it is for every man to be independent of help and self-reliant said mr. karson thoughtfully you can never work facts as you would fixed quantities and say given two facts and the product is so and so god has given men feelings and passions which cannot be worth to the problem because they are forever changing and uncertain god has also made some week not in any one way but in all when his weakened body another in mind another in steadiness of purpose a fourth can't tell right from wrong and so on or if he can tell the right he wants strength to hold by it now to my thinking them that is strong in any of god's gift is meant to help the weak be hanged to the facts i ask your pardons sir i can't rightly explain the meaning that is in me i'm like a tapas won't run but keeps letting it out drop by drop so that you've no notion of the force of what's within job looked and felt very sorrowful at the want of power in his words while the feeling with him was so strong and clear what you say is very true no doubt replied mr. karson but how would you bring it to bear upon the master's contact on my particular case had it e gravely i'm not learned enough to argue thoughts come into my head that i'm sure are as true as gospel though maybe they don't follow each other like the qed of a proposition the masters has it on their own conscience you have it on your sir to answer for to god whether you've done and are doing all in your power to lighten the evils that seem always to hang on the trades by which you make your fortunes it's no business of mine thank god john barton took the question in hand and his answer to it was no then he grew bitter and angry and mad and in his madness he did a great sin and wrought a great row and repented him with tears of blood and will go through his penance humbly and meekly into other place i'll be bound i never seen such bitter repentance as his that last night there was a silence of many minutes mr. karson had covered his face and seemed utterly forgetful of their presence and yet they did not like to disturb him by rising to leave the room at last he said without meeting their sympathetic eyes thank you both for coming and for speaking candidly to me i fear leg neither you nor i have convinced each other as to the power or want of power in masters to remedy the evils the men complain of i'm lost of ex use sir just now but it was not the want of power i was talking on what we all fear sharpest is the want of inclination try and help the evils which come like blights as times over the manufacturing places while we see the masters can stop work and not suffer if we saw the masters try for our sakes to find a remedy even if they were long about it even if they could find no help that the end of all could only say poor fellows our hearts are sore for you we've done what all we could and can't find a cure we'd bear up like men through bad times no one knows till they have tried what power of bearing lies in them if once they believe that men are caring for their sorrows and will help if they can if fellow creatures can give not but tears and brave words we take our trials straight from god and we know enough of his love to put ourselves blind into his hands you say our talk has done no good i say it has i see the view you take of things from the place where you stand i can remember that when the time comes for judging you i shan't think any longer does he act right on my views of a thing but does he act right on his own it has done me good in that way i'm an old man and may never see you again but i'll pray for you and think on you and your trials both of your great wealth and of your son's cruel death many and many a day to come and i'll ask god to bless both to you now and forever more amen farewell gem had maintained a manly and dignified reserve ever since he had made his open statement of all he knew now both the men rose and bowed low looking at mr carcen with a deep human interest they could not fall to take in one who had endured and forgiven a deep injury and who struggled hard as it was evident he did to bear up like a man under his affliction he bowed low and returned to them then he suddenly came forward and shook them by the hand and thus without a word more they parted there are stages in the contemplation and endurance of great sorrow which endow men with the same earnestness and clearness of thought that in some of old took the form of prophecy to those who have large capability of loving and suffering united with great power of firm endurance there comes a time in their woe when they are lifted out of the contemplation of their individual case into a searching inquiry into the nature of their calamity and the remedy if remedy there be which may prevent its recurrence to others as well as to themselves hence the beautiful noble efforts which are from time to time brought to light as being continuously made by those who have once hung on the cross of agony in order that others may not suffer as they have done one of the grandest ends which sorrow can accomplish the sufferer wrestling with god's messenger until a blessing is left behind not for one alone but for generations it took time before the stern nature of Mr. Carson was compelled to the recognition of the secret of comfort and that same sternness prevented his reaping any benefit in public estimation from the actions he performed for the character is more easily changed than the habits and manners originally formed by the character and to his dying day Mr. Carson was considered hard and cold by those who only casually saw him or superficially knew him but those who were admitted into his confidence were aware that the wish that lay nears to his heart was that none might suffer from the cause from which he had suffered that a perfect understanding and complete confidence and love might exist between masters and men that the truth might be recognized that the interests of one were the interests of all and as such required the consideration deliberation of all that hence it was most desirable to have educated workers capable of judging not mere machines of ignorant men and to have them bound to their employers by the ties of respect and affection not by mere money bargains alone in short to acknowledge the spirit of Christ as the regulating law between both parties many of the improvements known practice in the system of employment in Manchester owe their origin to short earnest sentences spoken by Mr. Carson many and many yet to be carried into execution take their birth from that stern thoughtful mind which submitted to be taught by suffering end of chapter 37 chapter 38 of Mary Barton this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Michelle Crandall Mary Barton by Elizabeth Clegghorn Gaskell chapter 38 conclusion touches gently gentle time we've not proud nor soaring wings our ambition our content lies in simple things humble voyagers or we or life's dim unsounded sea touches gently gentle time Barry Cornwall not many days after John Barton's funeral was over all was arranged respecting Jim's appointment at Toronto and the time was fixed for his sailing it was to take place almost immediately yet much remained to be done many domestic preparations were to be made and one great obstacle anticipated by both Jim and Mary to be removed this was the opposition they expected from Mrs. Wilson to whom the plan had never yet been named they were most anxious that their home should continue ever to be hers yet they feared that her dislike to a new country might be an insuperable objection to this at last Jim took advantage of an evening of unusual placidity as he sat alone with his mother just before going to bed to broach the subject and to his surprise she exceeded willingly to his proposition of her accompanying himself and his wife to be sure America is a long way to flip to beyond London a good but I reckon and quite in foreign parts but I've never had no opinion of England ever since they could be such fools as to take up quite a chap like thee and clap the in prison where you go I'll go perhaps in them Indian countries they'll know a well-behaved lad when they see him near speak a word more lad I'll go their path became daily more smooth and easy the present was clear and practicable the future was hopeful they had leisure of mind enough to turn to the past gem said Mary to him one evening as they sat in the twilight talking together in low happy voices till Margaret should come to keep Mary company through the night gem you've never yet told me how you came to know about my naughty ways with poor young Mr. Carson she blushed for shame at the remembrance of her folly and hid her head on his shoulder while he made answer darling I'm almost lost to tell you your aunt Esther told me ah I remember but how did she know I was so put about that night I did not think of asking her where did you see her I've forgotten where she lives Mary said all this and so open and innocent a manner that gem felt sure she knew not the truth respecting Esther and he half hesitated to tell her at length he replied where did you see Esther lately when tell me love for you've never named it before and I can't make it out oh it was that horrible night which is like a dream and she told him of Esther's midnight visit concluding with we must go and see her before we leave though I don't know rightly where to find her dearest Mary what gem she exclaimed alarmed by his hesitation your poor aunt Esther has no home she's one of them miserable creatures that walk the streets and he in his turn told of his encounter with Esther with so many details that Mary was forced to be convinced although her heart rebelled against the belief gem lad she said vehemently we must find her out we must hunt her up she rose as if she was going on the search there and then what could we do darling asked he fondly restraining her do why what could we not do if we could but find her she's when so happy in her ways thinking but what she turned from them if anyone would lend her a helping hand don't hold me gem this is just the time for such as her to be out and who knows but what I might find her close to hand stay Mary for a minute I'll go out now and search for her if you wish though it's but a wild chase you must not go it would be better to ask the police tomorrow but if I should find her how can I make her come with me once before she refused and said she could not break off her drinking ways come what might you never will persuade her if you fear and doubt said Mary in tears hope yourself and trust the good that must be in her speak to that she has it in her oh bring her home and we will love her so we'll make her good yes said Jim catching Mary's sanguine spirit she shall go to America with us and we'll help her get rid of her sins I'll go now my precious darling and if I can't find her it's but trying the police tomorrow take care of your own sweet self Mary said he fondly kissing her before he went out it was not to be gem wondered far and wide that night but never met ester the next day he applied to the police and at last they recognized under his description of her a woman known to them under the name of the butterfly from the gaiety of her dress a year or two ago by their help he traced out one of her haunts a low lodging house behind peter street he and his companion a kind hearted policeman were admitted suspiciously enough by the landlady who ushered them into a large garret where twenty or thirty people of all ages in both sexes lay and dozed away the day choosing the evening and night for their trades of beggary thieving or prostitution I know the butterfly was here said she looking round she came in the night before last and said she had not a penny to get a place for shelter and that if she was far away in the country she could steal a side and die in a cops or a cloth like the wild animals but here the police would let no one alone in the streets and she wanted a spot to die in in peace it's a queer sort of piece we have here but that night the room was uncommon empty and I'm not a hard hearted woman I wish I were I could have made a good thing out of for this if I were harder so I sent her up but she's not here now I think was she very bad asked gem I not but skin and bone with a cough to tear her in two they made some inquiries and found that in the restlessness of approaching death she had longed to be once more in the open air and had gone forth where no one seemed to be able to tell leaving many messages for her and directions that he was to be sent for if either the policeman or the landlady obtained any clue to her whereabouts gem bent his steps toward Mary's house for he had not seen her all that long day of search he told her of his proceedings and want of success and both were saddened at the recital and set silent for some time after a while they began talking over their plans in a day or two Mary was to give up house and go and live for a week or so with joe blee until the time of her marriage which would take place immediately before sailing they talked themselves back into silence and delicious reverie Mary sat by gem his arm around her waist her head on his shoulder and thought over the scenes which had passed in that home she was so soon to leave forever suddenly she felt gem start and started too without knowing why she tried to see his countenance but the shades of evening had deepened so much she could read no expression there it was turned to the window she looked and saw a white face pressed against the panes on the outside gazing intently into the dusky chamber while they watched as if fascinated by the appearance and unable to think or stir a film came over the bright feverish glittering eyes outside and the form sank down to the ground without a struggle of instinctive resistance it is Esther exclaimed they both at once they rushed outside and fallen into what appeared simply a heap of white or light color clothes fainting her dead lay the poor crushed butterfly the once innocent Esther she had come as a wounded deer drags its heavy limbs once more to the green coolness of the lair in which it was born there to die to see the place familiar to her innocence yet once again before her death whether she was indeed alive or dead they knew not now Job came in with Margaret for it was bedtime he said Esther's pulse beat a little yet they carried her upstairs and laid her on Mary's bed not daring to undress her lest any motion should frighten the trembling life away but it was all in vain towards midnight she opened wide her eyes and looked around on the once familiar room Job Lee knelt by the bed praying aloud and fervently for her but he stopped as he saw her roused look she sat up in bed with a sudden convulsive motion has it been a dream then asked she wildly then with a habit which came like instinct even in that awful dying hour her hands sought for a locket which hunk concealed in her bosom and finding that she knew all was true which had befallen her since last she lay an innocent girl in that bed she fell back and spoke word never more she held the locket containing her child's hair still in her hand and once or twice kissed it with a long soft kiss she cried feebly and sadly as long as she had any strength to cry and then she died they laid her in one grave with John Barton and there they lie without name or initial or date only this verse is inscribed upon the stone which covers the remains of these two wanderers Psalm 103 verse 9 for he will not always chide neither will he keep his anger forever I see a long low wooden house with room enough and to spare the old primeval trees are felled and gone for many a mile around one alone remains to overshadow the gable end of the cottage there is a garden around the dwelling and far beyond that stretches an orchard the glory of an Indian summer is overall making the heart leap at the sight of its gorgeous beauty at the door of the house looking towards the town stands Mary watching the return of her husband from his daily work and while she watches she listens smiling clap pans daddy comes with his pocket full of plums and a cake for Johnny then comes a crow of delight from Johnny then his grandmother carries him to the door and glories and seeing him resist his mother's blandishments to cling to her English letters twas that made me so late oh gem gem don't hold them so tight what do they say why some good news come give a guess what it is oh tell me I cannot guess said Mary then you give it up do you what do you say mother Jane Wilson thought a moment Will and Margaret are married as she not exactly but very near the old woman has twice the spirit of the young one come Mary give a guess he covered his little boy's eyes with his hands for an instant significantly till the baby pushed them down saying in his imperfect way Tant see there now Johnny can see do you guess Mary they've done something to Margaret to give her back her sight exclaimed she they have she has been couched and can see as well as ever she and will are to be married on the 25th of this month and he's bringing her out next voyage and Joe Blee talks of coming to not to see you Mary nor you mother nor you my little hero kissing him but to try and pick up a few specimens of Canadian insects will says all the compliment is to the earwigs you see mother dear Joe Blee said Mary softly and seriously end of chapter 38 and end of Mary Barton by Elizabeth Clegghorn Gaskell recording by Michelle Crandall Fremont California November 2007 www.subtlerevealings.net