A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE

BY

L. T. MEADE

CHAPTER I. 

"You have kept us waiting an age! Come along, Bet, do. "

"She ain't going to funk it, surely!"

"No, no, not she, --she's a good 'un, Bet is, --come along, Bet. JoeWilkins is waiting for us round the corner, and he says Sam is to bethere, and Jimmy, and Hester Wright: do come along, now. "

"Will Hester Wright sing?" suddenly demanded the girl who was beingassailed by all these remarks. 

"Yes, tip-top, a new song from one of the music halls in London. Nowthen, be you coming or not, Bet?"

"No, no, she's funking it, " suddenly called out a dancing little spriteof a newspaper girl. She came up close to Bet as she spoke, and shooka dirty hand in her face, and gazed up at her with two mirthful, teasing, wicked black eyes. "Bet's funking it, --she's a mammy'sgirl, --she's tied to her mammy's apron-strings, he-he-he!"

The other girls all joined in the laugh; and Bet, who was standingstolid and straight in the centre of the group, first flushed angrily, then turned pale and bit her lips. 

"I ain't funking, " she said; "nobody can ever say as there's any funkabout me, --there's my share. Good-night. "

She tossed a shilling on to the pavement, and before the astonishedgirls could intercept her, turned on her heel and marched away. 

A mocking laugh or two floated after her on the night air, then theblack-eyed girl picked up the shilling, said Bet was a "good 'un, though she wor that contrairy, " and the whole party set off singingand shouting, up the narrow street of this particular Liverpool slum. 

Bet, when she left her companions, walked quickly in the direction ofthe docks; the pallor still continued on her brown cheeks, and a dazedexpression filled her heavy eyes. 

"They clinched it when they said I wor a mammy's girl, " she muttered. "There ain't no funk in me, but there was a look about mother thismorning that I couldn't a-bear. No, I ain't a mammy's girl, not I. There was never nought so good about me, and I have give away my lastshilling, --flung it into the gutter. Well, never mind. I ain't tiedto nobody's apron-strings--no, not I. Wish I wor, wish I wor. "

She walked on, not too fast, holding herself very stiff and erect now. She was a tall girl, made on a large and generous scale, her head waswell set on a pair of shapely shoulders, and her coils of red-brownhair were twisted tightly round her massive head. 

"Bet, " said a young lad, as he rushed up the street--"ha-ha, handsomeBet, give us a kiss, will ye?"

Bet rewarded him with a smart cuff across his face, and marched on, more defiant than ever. 

As she paused at a certain door a sweet-looking girl with a white face, dressed in the garb of a Sister, came out. 

"Ah, Elizabeth, I am glad you have arrived, " she said. "I have justleft your mother; she has been crying for you, and--and--she is veryill indeed. "

"Oh, I know that, Sister Mary; let me go upstairs now. "

Bet pushed past the girl almost rudely, and ascended the dark ricketystairs with a light step. Her head was held very far back, and in hereyes there was a curious mixture of defiance, softness and despair. Two little boys, with the same reddish-brown hair as hers, were playingnoisily on the fourth landing. They made a rush at Bet when they sawher, climbed up her like little cats, and half strangled her with theirthin half-naked arms. 

"Bet, Bet, I say, mother's awful bad. Bet, speak to Nat; he stole mymarble, he did. Fie on you, Cap'n; you shouldn't have done it. "

"I like that!" shouted the ragged boy addressed as "Cap'n. " "You tookit from me first, you know you did, Gen'ral. "

"If mother's bad, you shouldn't make a noise, " said Bet, flinging thetwo little boys away, with no particular gentleness. "There, of courseI'll kiss you, Gen'ral--poor little lad. Go down now and play on thenext landing, and keep quiet for the next ten minutes if it's in you. "

"Bet, " whispered the youngest boy, who was known as "Cap'n, " "shallI tell yer what mother did this morning?"

"No, no; I don't want to hear--go downstairs and keep quiet, _do. _"

"Oh, yer'll be in such a steaming rage! She burnt yer book, yer _JaneEyre_ as yer wor reading--lor, it were fine--the bit as you readto the Gen'ral and me, but she said as it wor a hell-fire book, andshe burnt it--I seed her, and so did the Gen'ral--she pushed it betweenthe bars with the poker. She got up in her night-things to do it, andthen she got back to bed again, and she panted for nearly an hourafter--didn't she, Gen'ral?"

"Yes--yes--come along, come along. Look at Bet! she's going to strikesome 'un--look at her; didn't we say as she'd be in a steaming rage. Come, Cap'n. "

The little boys scuttled downstairs, shouting and tumbling over oneanother in their flight. Bet stood perfectly still on the landing. Theboys were right when they said she would be in a rage; her heart beatheavily, her face was white, and for an instant she pressed her foreheadagainst the door of her mother's room and clenched her teeth. 

The book burnt! the poor book which had given her pleasure, and whichshe had saved up her pence to buy--the book which had drawn her outof herself, and made her forget her wretched surroundings, committedto the flames--ignominiously destroyed, and called bad names, too. How dared her mother do it? how dared she? The girls were right whenthey said she was tied to apron-strings--she was, she was! But shewould bear it no longer. She would show her mother that she wouldsubmit to no leading--that she, Elizabeth Granger, the handsomestnewspaper girl in Liverpool, was a woman, and her own mistress. 

"She oughtn't to have done it, " half-groaned Bet "The poor book! AndI'll never know now what's come to Jane and Rochester--I'll never know. It cuts me to the quick. Mother oughtn't to take pleasure from onelike that, but it's all of a piece. Well, I'll go in and say 'goodnight' to her, and then I'll go back to the girls. I'm sorry I've lostmy evening's spree, but I can hear Hester Wright sing, leastways; andmebbe she'll let me walk home with her. "

With one hand Bet brushed something like moisture from her eyes; withthe other she opened the door of her mother's room, and went in. Herentrance was noisy, and as she stood on the threshold her expressionwas defiant. Then all in a second the girl's face changed; a soft, troubled, hungry look filled her eyes; she glided forward without evenmaking the boards creak. In Bet's absence the room had undergone atransformation. A bright fire burned in a carefully polished grate;in front of the hearth a thick knitted rug was placed; the floor wastidy, the two or three rickety chairs were in order, the woodenmantel-piece was free of dust. Over her mother's bed a soft crimsoncounterpane was thrown, and her mother, half sitting up, rested herwhite face against the snowy pillows. A little table stood near thebedside, which contained some cordial in a glass. The sick woman'slong thin hands lay outside the crimson counterpane, and her eyes, dark and wistful, were turned in the direction of the door. Bet wentstraight up to the bed: the transformation in the room was nothing toher; she saw it, and guessed quickly that Sister Mary had done it; butthe look, the changed look on her mother's face, was everything. Sheforgot her own wrongs and the burnt book; her heart was filled witha wild fear, a dreary sense of coming desolation seized her, andclasping her mother's long thin fingers in her own brown strong hands, she bent down and whispered in a husky voice, "Mother--oh, mother!"

The woman looked up and smiled. 

"You've come back, Bet?" she said. "Give me a drop of the cordial. I'mglad you've come back. I thought it might have been the will of Himwho knows best that I should die without seeing of you again, Elizabeth. "

"Oh, no, mother--of course I've come back. I hurried home. I didn'tstay for nobody. How nice the room looks, mother--and the kettle boils. I'll make you a cup o' tea. "

"No, Bet, I don't want it; stoop down, and look at me. Bet, look mein the eyes--oh, my girl, my girl!"

Bet gazed unflinchingly at her mother. The two faces were somewhatalike--the same red gleam in the brown eyes, the same touch of red onthe abundant hair; but one face was tired, worn out, and the other wasfresh and full and plump. Both faces had certain lines of hardness, certain indications of stormy, troublous souls looking through theeyes, and speaking on the lips. 

"I'm going to die, Bet; Fin going back to the good God, " panted Mrs. Granger. " he doctor have been, and he says mebbe it'll last tillmorning, mebbe not. I'm going back to Him as knows best, --it's a raresight of good fortune for me, ain't it?"

"I don't believe you're going to die, " said Bet. She spoke harshly, in an effort to subdue the emotion which was making her tremble allover. "Doctors are allays a-frightening folks. Have a cup o' tea, mother?"

"It don't frighten me, Bet, " said Mrs. Granger. "I'm going away, andHe's coming to fetch me; I ain't afeard. I never seemed more of a poorsort of a body than I do to-night, but somehow I ain't afeard. WhenHe comes He'll be good--I know He'll be good to me. "

"Oh, you're ready fast enough, mother, " said Bet, with some bitterness. "No one has less call to talk humble than you, mother. You was allaysall for good, as you calls it. "

"I was reg'lar at church, and I did my dooty, " answered Mrs. Granger. "But somehow I feels poor and humble to-night. Mebbe I didn't go theright way to make you think well on religion, Bet. Mebbe I didn't donothing right--only I tried, I tried. "

There was a piteous note in the voice, and a quivering of the thinaustere lips, which came to Bet as a revelation. Her own tremblingincreased violently; she threw herself down by the bedside and sobsshook her. 

"Mother, mother, it have all been hateful, hateful, " she moaned. "Andoh, mother, why did you burn my book?"

There was no answer. The white thin hand rested with a certain trembleon the girl's thick hair. 

"Why did you burn my book, that gave me pleasure, mother?" said Bet, raising her head, and speaking with her old defiance. 

"I thought, " began Mrs. Granger, --"mebbe I did wrong, --mebbe I weretoo 'ard. Him that knows best will forgive me. "

"Oh, mother, mother! I forgive you from the bottom of my heart. "

Bet took one of the thin hands, and covered it with passionate kisses. 

"I ain't good, " she said, "and I don't want to die. It floors me, mother, how you can be glad to go down into the grave and stay there--ugh!"

"I ain't going to stay there, " replied the dying woman, in a faintthough confident voice. 

She was silent then for a few moments, but there was a shining, satisfied light in her eyes; and her lips opened once or twice, as ifto speak. Bet held one of her hands firmly, and her own eager hungryeyes never stirred from the dying, tired-out face. 

"Bet. "

"Yes, mother. "

"You'll make me a bit of promise afore I go?"

"A promise, mother?"

"Yes, a promise. Oh, Bet, a promise from you means an awful lot. Youdon't break your word. You're as strong as strong, --and if you promiseme this, you'll be splendid--you'll be--give me a drop of the cordial, child, --you'll be--I have been praying about it all day, I have beensaying, 'Lord, send Bet in gentle-like, and trackable-like, and withno anger nourished in her heart, and, and, --another sip, child--thebreath's short--I--you'll make me the promise, won't you, child?"

"Oh yes, poor mother, if I can!"

"Yes, you can; and it'll be so splendid. There, I'm stronger, now. Himas knows has given me the strength. Why, you're me over again, Bet, but you're twice as grand as me. You're me without my frets, and mycontrariness. Fancy, Bet, what you'd be in this 'ere place ef you madethat promise. Why, strong?--strong 'ud be no word for it! You, withnever your temper let out like a raging lion! There'd be no one ascould stand agen you, Bet. Your father, --why your father 'd give upthe bad ways and the drink. And the little boys, --the little boys, --oh, Bet, Bet, ef you'd only make the promise it 'ud save them all fromhell-fire. "

"I'll do what I can mother. See, you're wasting all your poor breath. I'll do what I can. You say it all out, and don't tremble so, poormother. "

"Hold my hands, then, child; look me in the face, say the words afterme--oh, my poor breath, my poor breath--God give me strength just tosay the words. Bet, you hear. Bet, say them after me--'From this momentout I promise to take up with religion, so help me, Lord God Almighty!'"

The woman said the words eagerly, with sudden and intense fire andpassion; her whole soul was in them--her dying hands hurt the girlwith the firmness of their grip. 

"Bet, Bet--you hain't spoke--you hain't spoke!"

"No, no, mother--I can't--not them words--no, mother. "

Bet sat down again by the side of the bed; her face was buried in thecrimson counterpane; a dry moan or two escaped her lips. 

"I'd do anything for mother--anything now as she's really going away, but I couldn't take up with religion, " she sobbed. "Oh, it's amistake--all a mistake, and it ain't meant for one like me. Why, _I_, if I were religious--why, I'd have to turn into a hypocrite--why, --I--I'd scorn myself. Yes, mother, what are you saying? Yes, mother, I'ddo anything to make your death-bed easy--anything but this. "

Bet had fancied she had heard her mother speaking; the perfect stillnessnow alarmed her far more than any words, and she lifted her head witha start. Mrs. Granger was lying motionless, but she was neither deadnor had she fainted. Her restless hands were quiet, and her worn-outface, although it looked deadly pale, was peaceful. Here eyes lookeda little upwards, and in them there was a contented smile. Bet saw thelook, and nothing in all the world could have horrified her more. Hermother, who thought religion beyond anything else, had just heard hersay that never, never, even to smooth a dying pillow, could she, Bet, take up with the ways of the religious; and yet her eyes smiled andshe looked content. 

"Mother, you don't even care, " said Bet, in an anguish of pain andinconsistency. 

"O, yes, child, I care; but I seem to hear Him as knows best saying'Leave it to me. ' I ain't fretting, child; I has come to a place whereno one frets, and you're either all in despair, or you're as still andcalm and happy"--here she broke off abruptly. "Bet, I want yer to begood to the little boys--to stand atween them and their father, andnot to larn them no bad ways They're wild little chaps, and they taketo the bad as easy as easy; but you can do whatever yer likes withthem. Your father, he don't care for nobody, and he'd do them an illturn; but you'll stand atween them and him--d'ye hear, Bet?"

"Yes, mother--I'll make a promise about that, if you like. "

"No, no; you never broke your word, and saying it once'll content me. "

"Mother, " said Bet, suddenly. "Mebbe you'd like the little chaps toturn religious. As you've allays set such a deal of store on prayersand sich like, mebbe you'd like it for them?"

"Oh, yes, Bet--oh, my poor gel, has the Lord seen fit to soften yerhard heart?"

"Look here, mother, "--here the tall, splendidly-made girl stood up, and throwing back her head, and with the firelight full on her face, and reflecting a new, strange expression of excitement, she spokesuddenly: "I can't promise the other, but I'll promise this. The littleboys' lives shall come afore my life--harm shall come to me afore ittouches them; and ef religion can do anything for them, why, they shallhear of it and choose for themselves. There, I have promised. "

CHAPTER II. 

MRS. Granger lingered all through that night, but she scarcely saidanything more, and in the cold dawn of the morning her spirit passedvery quietly away. The two little boys opened the room door noisilyat midnight, but they too were impressed, as Bet had been, by theunusual order and appearance of comfort of the room. Perhaps they werealso startled by the girl's still figure crouching by the bedside, andby the look on their mother's face as she lay with her eyes closed, breathing hard and fast. They ceased to talk noisily, and crept overto a straw mattress on the floor which they shared together. When theynext opened their eyes they were motherless. 

Mrs. Granger died between five and six in the morning; and when thebreath had quite left her body Bet arose, stretched herself, --for shewas quite stiff from sitting so long in one position, --and goingdownstairs, woke a neighbor who occupied a room on the next floor. 

"Mrs. Bennett, my mother is dead; can you take care of the Cap'n andthe Gen'ral this morning? I'll pay you for it when I sell my papersto-night. "

Mrs. Bennett was a wrinkled old woman of about sixty-five. She wasdeeply interested in tales of death and calamity, and instantly offerednot only to do what she could for the boys, but to go upstairs andassist in the laying out of the dead woman. 

"No, no; I'll do what's wanted myself, " replied Bet; "ef you'll takethe boys I'll bring them down asleep as they are, and I'll be ever somuch obligated. No, don't come upstairs, please. Father'll be inpresently, and then him and me and mother must be alone; for I've aword to say to father, and no one must hear me. "

Bet went back to the room where her mother had died. She was verytired, and her limbs were stiff and ached badly after the long night'svigil she had gone through. No particular or overwhelming griefoppressed her. On the whole, she had loved her mother better than anyother human being; but the time for grief, and the awful sense of nothaving her to turn to, had not yet arrived; she was only conscious ofa very solemn promise made, and of an overpowering sense of weariness. She lay down on the bed beside the dead woman, and fell into a soundand dreamless slumber. 

In about an hour's time noisy steps were heard ascending the stairs. The littleboys, cuddling close to one another in Mrs. Bennett's bed, heard them, and clasped each other's hands in alarm; but Bet sound, very sound, asleep did not know when her father reeled into the room. He had been out all night--a common practice of his--and he ought tohave been fairly sober now, for the public-houses had been shut formany hours, but a boon companion had taken him home for a privatecarouse. He was more tipsy than he had ever been known to be at thathour of the morning, and consequently more savage. He entered the roomwhere his dead wife and his young daughter lay, cursing andmuttering, --a bad man every inch of him--terrible just then in hissavage imbecility. 

"Bet, " he said, "Bet, get up. Martha, I want my cup of tea. Get it forme at once--I say, at once! I'm an hour late now for the docks, andJim Targent will get my job. I must have my tea, --my head's reeling!Get up, Martha, or I'll kick you!"

"I'll get you the tea, father, " said Bet. 

She had risen instantly at the sound of his voice. "Set down in thatchair and keep still; keep still, I say--you'd better. "

She pushed him on to a hard wooden chair, shaking him not a little asshe did so. 

"There, I'll put the kettle on and make the tea for you--not that I'llever do it again--no, never, as long as I live. There, you'd betterset quiet, or not one drop shall pass your lips. "

"Why don't the woman get it for me?" growled Granger. "I didn't meanyou to be awoke, Bet. Young gels must have their slumber out. Why don'tthe woman see to her duty?"

"She has done her duty, father. You set still, and you shall have thetea presently. "

The man glared at his daughter with his bloodshot eyes. She had beenup all night, and her hair was tossed, and her eyes smarted; but besidehim she looked so fresh, so upright, so brave and strong, that hehimself in some undefinable way felt the contrast, and shrank fromher. He turned his uneasy gaze towards the bed; he would vent his spiteon that weak wife of his--Martha should know what it was to keep a manwith a splitting headache waiting for his tea. He made an effort torise, and to approach the bed, but Bet forestalled him. 

"Set you there, or you'll drink no tea in this house, " she said; andthen, taking a shawl, she threw it over an old clothes-screen, andplaced it between Granger and his dead wife. 

The kettle boiled at last, the tea was made strong ang good, and Bettook a cup to her father. He drained it off at one long draught, andheld out his shaking hand to have the cup refilled. Bet supplied himwith a second draught, then she placed her hand with the air of aprofessional nurse on his wrist. 

"You're better now, father. "

"That I am, gel, and thank you. You're by no means a bad sort, Bet--worth twenty of her, I can tell you. "

"Leave her out of the question, if you please, father, or you'll getno help from me. You'd like to wash your face, mebbe?"

"Yes, yes, with cold water. Give me your hand, child, and I'll get up. "

"Set you still--I'll fetch the water. "

She brought it in a tin pail, with a piece of flannel and soap and acoarse towel. 

"Now, wash--wash and make yourself as clean as you can--for you hasgot to see summut--leastways you can take the outside dirt away; there, make yourself clean while I lets the daylight in. "

The man washed and laved himself. He was becoming gradually sober, andBet's words had a subduing effect; he looked after her with a certainmaudlin admiration, as she drew up the blind, and let the uncertaindaylight into the poor little room. Then she went behind the screen, and he heard her for a moment or two moving about. He dried his faceand hands and hair and was standing up, looking comparatively freshand another man, when she returned to him. 

"You're not a bad sort of a gel, " he said, attempting to chuck herunder the chin, only she drew away from him. "You know what a manwants, and you get it for him and don't hurl no ugly words in his face. Well, I'm off to the docks now. I'll let the old 'ooman sleep on, thisonce, and tell her what I think on her, and how much more I set storeby that daughter of hers, tonight. "

"You'll let her sleep on, will you?" said Bet. 

Her tone was queer and constrained; even her father noticed it. 

"She is asleep now; come and look at her; you may wake her if you can. "

"No, no, gel; let me get off--Jim Targent will get my berth unless Ilook sharp. Let me be, Bet--your mother can sleep her fill thismorning, "

"Come and look at her, father; come--you must. "

She took his hand--she was very strong--stronger than him at thatmoment, for his legs were not steady, and even now he was scarcelysober. 

"I don't want to see an old 'ooman asleep, " he muttered, but he letthe strong hand lead him forward. Bet pushed back the screen, and drewhim close to the bed. 

"Wake her if you can, " she said, and her eyes blazed into his. 

Granger looked. There was no mistaking what he saw. 

"My God!" he murmured. "Bet, you shouldn't have done it--you shouldn'thave broke it to me like this!"

He trembled all over. 

"Martha dead! Let me get away. I _hate_ dead people. "

"Put your hand on her forehead, father. See, she couldn't have gotyour tea for you. It were no fault of her'n--you beat her, and youkicked her, and you made life awful for her; but you couldn't hurt herthis morning; she's above you now, you can't touch her now. "

"Let me go, Bet--you're an awful girl--you had no call to give me aturn like this. No, I won't touch her, and you can't force me. I'mgoing out--I won't stay in this room. I'm going down to the docks--Imustn't lose my work. What do you say--that I shan't go? Where willyou all be if I don't arn your bread for you?"

"Set down there on the side of the bed, father. I'll keep you fiveminutes and no more. You needn't be all in a tremble--you needn't beshowing of the white feather. Bless you, she never could hurt you lessthan she does now. Set there, and look at her face. I've a word or twoto say, and I can only say it with you looking at her dead face. Thenyou can go down to the docks, and stay there for always as far as itmatters to me. "

She pushed the man on to the bed. He could see the white, still faceof his dead wife. The tired look had left it; the wrinkles had almostdisappeared. Martha Granger looked twenty years younger than she haddone yesterday. 

Around the closed eyelids, around the softly smiling mouth, lay anawful peace and grandeur. The drunken husband looked at the wife whomhe had abused, whose days he had rendered one long misery, and a lumparose in his throat; a queer new sensation, which he could not recognizeas either remorse or repentance, filled his breast. He no longer opposedBet; he gazed fixedly, with a stricken stare, at the dead woman. 

"Speak, gel; say what you have to say, " he muttered. 

"It's only a word or two, father--It's just this. Mother's dead, andin a day or two she'll be buried. You worn't there to bid her good-bye, and it ain't likely you'll ever meet her again, unless that's trueabout the Judgment Day. Maybe it is true, and maybe mother will tellGod some ugly things about you then, father. Maybe you'll see her thenfor a minute or two--I can't say. "

"Don't, " said Granger. "You're awful when you likes, Bet. You has medown, and you tramples on me. You're a cruel gel, and no mistake. "

A derisive smile came to Bet's face. 

"Mother's dead and she'll be buried, " she continued, in a dry, monotonous voice. "The money is in the burying club for her, and shecan be laid in the grave decent like. Then me and the boys, Nat andThady, we're going away. I wanted to say that--I wanted to say thatyour ways aren't our ways, and so we'd best part company; and I wantedto say here, with you looking at mother's dead face, and her smilingback at you so awful and still, and the good God, if there is a God, listening, that I has promised mother that the boys Nat and Thady--theCap'n and Gen'ral, as they're called here--shan't larn your ways, whichare bad past belief; so when mother's buried, we're going away. That'sall. You can go to the docks, now. "

As Bet spoke she took a little white soft handkerchief, and laid itgently over her mother's face. 

"You can go now, " she repeated, and she opened the door for the man, who slunk out of the room. He was half-sober, half-stupefied. A burningrage, which was neither remorse nor repentance, and yet was a mixtureof both, surged up in his heart. He said to himself, that he was sorryfor Martha, who was dead, and quite beyond his reach any more; but hehated Bet, for she had humbled him and dared to defy him. 

CHAPTER III. 

In Liverpool there are, perhaps more than in any town in the world, all sorts and conditions of men. The very wealthy and the very poorare to be found within its precincts--also the very good and the verybad. Its slums are black and awful; but it also contains some of thefinest public buildings, some of the most massive and comfortablehouses, and without any exception the largest and greatest docks, inthe world. All nationalities come to Liverpool. It sees life frombeyond the seas, it has a population of people always coming and going--Americans who go to the theatre in London and arrive in Liverpool aboutthree in the morning, on their return to their own country; Irishmen, Scotchmen, dwellers in Africa; in fact, people from all parts of thecivilized world find their way to Liverpool, to return from thence byway of the sea to their native lands. On certain days in the week thehotels and lodging-houses are packed to overflowing; the differentpiers present scenes of activity and bustle; the great ships come andgo, and the people come and go with them--Liverpool is passed throughand forgotten. 

That is the case with those fleeting crowds who so largely contributeto its trade and prosperity; but the _habitue'_ of Liverpool, theman who spends his days there, is a totally different order of being. The stranger sees the great city most generally through mist and fog;he regards the pavements as rough and slippery; he thinks the publicbuildings large, but ugly. Liverpool to him is another London, butwithout London's attractions. But the true Liverpool man looks at hisnative town from a very different point of view. He is part and parcelof the place, and he loves it for its size and ugliness, its greatcommerce, its thriving active business life. Liverpool to its citizensmeans home; they are proud of their laws and their customs; they liketo dispense charity in their own way; they like to support and helptheir own poor; they have, to an extent absolutely unknown in London, the true spirit of neighborliness. This spirit is shared by all alike, the rich and the poor feel it, and it binds them together; they regardtheir town as the world, and look askance at inventions and ideasimported from other places. There are bad slums in Liverpool, andwicked deeds committed, and cruel rough men to be found in multitudes;but the evil there compared to London seems at least to beconquerable--the slums can be got at; nobody who chooses to apply inthe right quarter need die of famine or distress. 

Most of the men are dock-laborers; they are often taken on only forhalf a day at a time, and in this way their work is precarious, and, except for the most steady-going and respectable, at many periods ofthe year very hard to get. Almost all the men either work at the docks, or take to a sea-faring life. Thus sailors are coming and going, andthere is scarcely a family belonging either to high or low who has nota son, a brother, or a father on the sea. Perhaps this is one of thefacts which binds the people to one another--the rich lady in hercarriage, and the poor starved, gaunt woman who lives in one room upmany pairs of stairs in a dismal back slum, look alike out on thewaters of the Mersey for the boy who may come back any day with thetaste of the sea about him. 

The Liverpool boy has his work cut out for him; those who wish tobelong emphatically to the place of their birth, either earn what theycan at the docks or go to sea. They need never debate as to theirprofession or their calling in life; it is cut out for them--it liesat their feet with that sea which is brought by the ships to theirvery doors. 

But the Liverpool girl--that is, the girl of the people--is not sofortunate. She has no special work provided for her; she is not likethe Manchester girl, who is as certain to go into the factory as sheis to eat and drink--there are scarcely any factories in Liverpool, and a very tiny proportion of girls find work there. 

Domestic service is hated by the Liverpool lass. At one time, whenforced by necessity to adopt this means of earning her bread, she madea stipulation that she should at least sleep at home--that her eveningsfrom seven o'clock out should be her own. Now that this rule is nolonger allowed, domestic service is held in less esteem than ever, andonly the most sensible girls dream of availing themselves of itscomforts. 

While the boys, therefore, are earning and striking out independentpaths for themselves, the girls are under difficulties. They must earnmoney; for life is not too easy to live in their native place, andeach must bring in his or her small portion of help to the familypurse; but how, is the difficulty. Some hawk fruit and vegetables, doing a fairly brisk trade on Saturdays, and even on Sunday mornings;but the most favored Liverpool girls earn their daily bread by sellingnewspapers night after night in the streets. A good-looking girl willsecure her regular customers, have her own regular and undisturbedbeat, and will often earn from tenpence to a shilling a night; but thenewspaper beats have to be bought, and often at a high figure, forcompetition is very keen, and the coveted corners where the greaternumber of gentlemen are to be met that require evening papers arehighly prized. 

Bet Granger had been a newspaper girl for a couple of years now; hermother had saved up money to buy her beat for her; it was one of thebest in the town, and she was always so trim and neat, so comely andpleasant-looking, and her papers so clean and crisp and neatly cut, that she did a fair trade, and largely helped to support her motherand little brothers. Her trade occupied her for a couple of hours everyevening. In the morning, as the mood took her, she helped her motherwith plain needlework--Mrs. Granger worked for a wholesale shop at theusual shop prices--or she went down to the docks. 

Every Liverpool girl is fond of watching the ships as they come in orgo out; they connect her with the outer life, with the far-awayworld--they give her a pleasing and ever-recurring sense of excitementand exhilaration; but, as a rule, they never implant in her breastthat fever to be off and away which so soon affects the Liverpool boy. 

Bet liked to watch the ships. She would stand erect and almost haughtyin her bearing, often quite close to the edge of the quays, speakingvery few words, and making scarcely any acquaintances, but thinkingmany strange and undefined thoughts in her untutored heart. 

The Grangers did not belong to the lowest of the people. Granger wasa clever workman. He was seldom out of employment; for although hedrank away his earnings, and gave no thought whatever to the comfortof his wife and children, he was sober and steady by day. He had aclever, shrewd head, as yet unaffected by drink, and he did the workallotted to him in a superior manner to most of his class. 

When first they were married, he and his wife had two bright, cheeryrooms. They were well furnished, and things promised brightly for thecouple. Granger, however, was the son of a drunkard, and the sins ofthe father were soon to be abundantly visited on him. Mrs. Grangermeant well, but her religion was not of an inspiriting kind. Whenevershe saw her husband the worse for drink she reproached him, and spoketo him about hell-fire. He soon ceased to care for her; and even whenBet was a tiny child she scarcely ever remembered an evening which didnot find her mother in tears, and her father returning home, havingtaken a great deal more than was good for him. 

Years went by; children were born, only to live for a day or two andto pass away. Mrs. Granger became more broken-down and unhappy-lookingevery year, and Bet grew into a tall, comely girl. She was notparticularly gentle, nor particularly amiable, and she had the worstpossible training for such a nature as hers; but nevertheless she hada certain nobility about her. For instance, no one had ever heardElizabeth Granger tell a lie. She was proud of her truthfulness, whichwas simply the result of courage. She was afraid of no one, and nocircumstance had ever caused her cheek to blanch with fear. She quicklyacquired a name for truth and honesty of purpose, and then pride helpedher to live up to her character. She was not very quick to givepromises, but she often boasted that, once she gave one, nothing wouldever induce her to break it. She was very fiery and hot-tempered, butas a rule she did not fly out about trifles, and there was a certaingrandeur about her nature which accorded well with her fine physiqueand upright bearing. 

Bet was an only child for several years. It is true that many littlebrothers and sisters had been carried away to the cemetery, but nonelived until two puny boys put in so feeble an appearance that theneighbors thought the miserable thing called life could not exist intheir tiny persons more than a day or two. They were twins, and Mrs. Granger nearly died when she gave them birth. The neighbors said thatit would be a good thing if the broken-down mother and the babes thatnobody wanted all went away together. 

"There's a deal too many children in the world, " they said; "it wouldbe good if they was took, poor lambs. "

But here Bet, who overheard the words, gave way to one of her burstsof fury. She turned the offending but well-disposed neighbors out ofthe room; she locked the door, and kneeling down by the babies, gavethem a perfect baptism of tears and kisses. 

"Who says as they're not wanted?" she sobbed. "I want 'em--I'm allaysa-wanting something, and maybe they'll fill my heart. "

From this moment she constituted herself the babies' devoted nurse;and so, after a fashion, they throve, and did not die. 

The darker the times grew for Mrs. Granger the more she clung to herreligion. She had a real belief, a real although dim faith. The beliefsupported her tottering steps, and the faith kept her worn spirit fromutterly fainting; but they did nothing to illumine or render happy thelives of those about her. She believed intensely in a God who punished. He saved--she knew He saved--but only through fire. In the dark winterevenings she poured out her stern thoughts, her unlovely ideas, intothe ears of her young daughter. As a child Bet listened in terror; asa woman she simply ceased to believe. 

"Ef God were like that, she'd have nought to do with Him, "--this washer thought of thoughts. She refused to accompany her mother to chapelon Sundays; she left the room when the Bible was read aloud; she madeone or two friends for herself, and these friends were certainly notof her mother's choosing. She could read, and she loved novels--indeed, she would devour books of any kind, but she had to hide them from hermother, who thought it her duty, as she valued her daughter's immortalsoul, to commit them to the flames. 

The mother loved the girl, and never ceased to wrestle in prayer forher, and to believe she would shine as a jewel in her crown some day;and the girl also cared for the mother, respecting her stern sense ofduty, admiring the length of her prayers, wondering at her ceaselessdevotion; but both were outwardly hard to the other, showing nosoftness, and speaking of no love. 

All Bet's up-bringing was hardening; and but for the presence of theboys she might have wondered if she possessed any heart at all. 

She was nineteen when her mother suddenly broke down completely inhealth, and after the shortest of illnesses--too short to alarm anyone, too short for even the word danger to be whispered--closed her eyeson this world, leaving Bet in a state of bewildered and impotent rage. 

There was no longer the faintest doubt in her orphaned heart that sheloved her mother. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Bet wept silently for the greater part of the day which saw hermotherless, but in the evening she went out as usual to sell her papers. Her eyes were swollen from the heavy and constant tears she shed, butshe had neatly plaited her hair and wound it round her comely head, and she carried herself with even a little more defiance than usual. She was miserable to-night, and she felt that the whole world wasagainst her. 

The night, for the time of year was November, was quite in accordancewith her feelings. It was damp, a drizzling mist was blown into herface, and the pavements were slippery with that peculiar Liverpool mudwhich exceeds even London mud in slipperiness. Bet's beat, however, was brightly lighted; there was a public-house at one corner, and alittle further up were two gentlemen's clubs. All were brilliant withgaslight, and the girl, wrapping her shawl about her--she wore no hator bonnet--took her accustomed stand. She always avoided thepublic-house--not because she feared its tipsy inhabitants, but becauseshe knew no sale for her wares lay there. Her favorite stand was undera lamp post, close to the largest of the clubs. The light of the lampfell full on her face and figure, and shone on the evening papers whichshe offered for sale. Her customers came up as usual, bought what theyrequired of her, one or two giving her a careless and some a friendly"good-evening. " No one noticed her pallid cheeks, nor the heavy depthsof trouble in her red-brown eyes. Her luck, however, was good, and shehad almost sold all her little stock of papers, when a vibrating andrather peculiar voice at her elbow caused her to start and turn quickly. 

"Is that you, Hester Wright?" she said, speaking in an almost pettishvoice. "Well, I can't go with you to-night, no how; I'm off home thisminute. "

"Why, Bet, is yer mother took worse?" asked the voice. It vibratedagain, and two sweet though rather wild-looking eyes gazed full intoBet's tired, white face. 

"Mother, " said the girl. She made a valiant struggle, but no more wordswould come. 

After about a moment she spoke in a strained and totally altered voice:

"Let me be for to-night, Hester. I've sold my papers, and I'm goinghome. "

"No, you're not, honey; you're coming along o' me. Don't I see as yerwhite with the grief, and half distraught like. There, I'm alonetonight, unless Will should drop in; come and have a cup o' tea withme, Bet. "

"My mother's dead, Hester, " said Bet. She could speak without effortnow, but the tears were raining down her cheeks. 

"Poor lamb! Dead? Well, I thought as the blow would come. You comehome with me, Elizabeth. Maybe I'll sing something to you. "

At this proposition Bet changed color. 

"I'm starved for that voice of yours, Hester, " she said. And then sheput her hand through her companion's arm, and they walked off at aquiet pace together. Hester was as tall as Bet, and about ten yearsher senior. She was very slender, and carried herself well; her eyeswere dark and beautiful, otherwise she had a queer, irregularly formedface. Her jet-black hair grew low on her forehead, and when she smiled, which she only did occasionally, she showed the gleam of very whiteteeth. No one called Hester Wright handsome, but few women of her classin Liverpool had a wider influence. She had a peculiar voice, ratherdeep set, and, at least in speaking, only admitting of a limited rangeof compass; but every word spoken by her was so nicely adjusted, socarefully modulated, that the simplest and most ill-formed sentenceacquired a rude eloquence. This was her speaking voice. When she sang, it rose into power; it was then a deep contralto, utterly untaught, but free and easy as the notes of a bird. Hester could do what sheliked with men and women when she sang to them, and she knew her power. In her own circle she was more or less of a queen, and although shewas no better and no richer than the poorest of the Liverpool girls, yet her smallest word of approbation was treasured almost as if it hadbeen a royal gift. She had a great insight into character; she hadlarge tact, and she was also affectionate. 

Bet in her heart of hearts had a boundless admiration for this woman, and she felt a sense of comfort stealing over her as they walked quicklythrough the wet, slippery streets side by side. 

Hester lived in a little room, which she managed to keep fairly neatand clean, quite close to the docks. In the daytime you could see themasts of the tall ships from her window, and the language of the sailorsand the many shouts of the workers on the quays could be borne intoher room on the breeze. Now the window was curtained, and a littlefire shed a cheerful reflection on the dingy walls. Hester stirred thefire, threw on an additional lump or two of coal, and drawing athree-legged stool forward for Bet, motioned to her to seat herself. The room was fairly warm, and Bet was glad to dry her damp dress, andto spread out her hands before the cheerful blaze. As Hester bustledabout, and laid a tiny table with plates for three, she gradually drewfrom Bet a little of the story of last night. 

"I have promised, " said Bet, in conclusion, "to keep the two littl'unssafe--that's my work now, and I told father this morning what he worto expect. "

"And how did he take it, honey?" said Hester. "He knew you, Bet. Heknew as you weren't a girl to say one thing and mean another. "

"Yes, he knew that, " answered Bet. "Most folks know that of me, " shecontinued, with a heavy sigh. 

"Well, have some tea now, honey--draw up to the table. The butter'sgood, and the red-herring done to a turn. I expected Will Scarlett in, but we won't wait for him. Ah! here he is--just in the nick o' time. "

The door was opened, and a young sailor, with a certain resemblanceto Hester both in face and figure, stepped across the threshold. Hecolored up under his brown skin when he saw Bet, but she scarcelynoticed him, and gave him her hand in limp fashion, her eves hardlyraised. 

"My ship sails to-morrow, Hester, " he said, "the 'Good Queen Anne, '--I've got a rattling good berth this time, and no mistake. "

He tossed off his cap as he spoke, again glanced at Bet with a certainshyness, and then dropped into the seat opposite to her. 

"Help yourself, Will, " said Hester. "Bet's in a bit o' trouble--youmustn't mind her; she wor telling me things, and she'll have a hardfight afore her, I can see. Well, I say she must keep up heart. Havesome tea, honey? Will, don't you make two mouths of a cherry--put thewhole of that herring on your plate--there are more in the bag for meto toast when this is finished. "

"I can't eat, Hester--it's no use, " said Bet. 

She rose from the table, and went back once more to the little three-legged stool by the fire. Then she turned her back on Hester and theyoung sailor, and went on spreading out her hands to the warmth, asthough she could never take the chill off. 

"Don't mind her, " whispered Hester to her cousin. "She's taking ithard, and I didn't know as it were in her. But presently she'll cry, and that'll bring her round. You tell me what your prospects are, Will. I'm loathe to part with ye, lad, and that's the truth. "

"I'll be back by the summer, Hetty. We're going to Africa and back. I'm to be well paid, and it's a good ship to sail in. The cap'n ain'tone of your rough and ready, and the rations are fair. "

As he spoke he glanced again at Bet, who was leaning her cheek on herhand. Neither he nor Hester could catch any reflection of her face, which was completely hidden. 

"We'll talk to her presently, " whispered the elder woman. "Now pushthe table aside, Will, and let's have a sailor-song together, just forgood luck. "

"No, let's sing 'Barbara Allen, '" said Will. Again he glanced at Bet, and this time he sighed. 

The two voices blended well, Will's being of nearly as rare a qualityas his cousin's. When they sang, so great was the power of this giftbestowed upon them, they rose several degrees in the scale of refinementand even of education. Their voices lost all trace of dialect, theireyes shone with true feeling. The pathetic old words had never beenmore fitly rendered. 

As the voices rose and swelled, and filled the little room with aperfect melody of sound, Bet ceased to sigh; her hands fell idly intoher lap, and her face, which was now turned towards the singers, becamefilled with a sort of ecstasy. Her parted lips seemed scarcely tobreathe, and her eyes reflected the emotions caused by the pathos ofthe story and the wonderful power of the singers like a mirror. 

Will, who was watching her even more intently than Hester, now beganto sing only for her. He looked directly at her; and a great manyemotions surging in his own soul must have come to her just now, borneon the words of the old ballad--

 When he was dead and laid in grave, Her heart was struck with sorrow. O mother, mother, make my bed, For I must die to-morrow. 

 Farewell, she said, ye virgins all, And shun the fault I fell in; Henceforth, take warning by the fall Of cruel Barbara Allen. 

There was almost a note of warning in Will's voice. It died away witha quaver which might have been a reproach. 

Bet roused herself with a shivering sigh. "Eh, " she said, "she was acruel one. That was beautiful, Hester. Better than a drink of waterwhen you are thirsty. " She raised her hand to wipe away two tears whichhad rolled down her cheeks. 

"It seems to me, " she added, "that there is nought in all the worldlike the music of a grand voice like yours, Hester. It's the onlybeautiful thing I ha' met--your voice and Will's; they are just grandand summut to be thanked for. Well, I am obliged to you both; but Imust say 'goodnight' now, for it is time for me to be going. "

"No, no--that you won't, honey, " said Hester, bustling forward, andpushing Bet down again on to the three-legged stool. "You're better, and the ice is broke a bit, and you must just set there in that cosycorner and tell me your plans. Oh, you need not mind Will; he'll justsmoke his pipe and not listen more than he need to. "

"I'll go out if you like, " said Will, half rising. 

Bet raised her pathetic eyes to his face. "I don't mind you, Will, "she said, simply. Her words sent a thrill through the young fellow'sheart. He did not know that when she began to speak to Hester shealmost forgot his presence. 

"Yes, Hester. They ain't much of plans, but such as they be they'remade. Mother will be buried come Saturday, and then the boys and mewe go away. Father have had fair warning, and he knows me. I'll takethe littl'uns and be the best sort of mother I can to them; fathershan't have 'em. He kick'd the Cap'n last week--he shan't never doit no more. I promised mother, so there's no argufying on thatpoint--the boys and me we must go. "

"But where will you take them, honey? You must find a place where hecan't follow you--he's sartin sure to do his best if he thinks you are'arning money, and I suppose the littl'uns are insured for--same asmost of the children around. "

"Oh, yes, " said Bet, with a short, grim laugh; "he have a price onboth their lives--don't let's talk of it. He shan't find 'em--and theyshall live, if only to spite him. "

"But where will you take 'em, my dear? He's a bad, cruel man, but heis a rare and clever one too, and he will outwit a slip of a lass likeyou. If he wants the boys he can claim them, I suppose. I'm main sorryfor you, Bet; but I don't see how you are to hide them--I really don't. "

"I have promised mother, " said Bet; "there is no use argufying on thatpoint. " Then she added, in a softer voice: "I'm going to the Irishquarter. I know a woman there who'll be a match for father, but I'dbest not say her name, for if he comes questioning it is better no oneshould know. Now, I'll say 'good-night' Hester; thank you for bringingme home. I'm more comforted than I wor. "

When Bet rose, Will knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "I'll see youhome, Bet, " he said; and the two went out together. 

When they got out on to the docks, Will said, half slyly, "The night'squite fair; will you come with me, Bet, and I'll show you where the'Good Queen Anne' is lying at anchor, and all as trim as possible, ready to sail to-morrow night?"

"The 'Good Queen Anne, '" repeated Bet, "that's your ship, ain't it, Will?"

"Why, of course; didn't you hear me tell Hester? I am rare and lucky, I can tell you, to have found a berth in her--good pay and good rations, and a jolly crew, and a fair-spoken captain. It ain't every fellow hasthe luck to find a berthlike mine. And I'll be back in the summer, Bet. It's a short voyage, and everything just to my mind. You'll wishme luck, won't you, Bet? for the sake of--well, because we used to beplaymates a while back, you mind. "

"A good while back, " repeated Bet. "Oh, yes, I wish you luck, Will. And is that the 'Good Queen Anne?' What is the figure at her bows?"

"A girl, " said Will, eagerly, "with her arms over her head and a smileon her lips. Some people say it's a sort of figure of Queen Anne, afterwhom the ship is named, but I don't take her to be that; and now inthe moonlight--you can see her well now, Bet, in the moonlight--withthe smile showing upon her lips, she looks like what I take her to bemore than ever. "

"And what is that, Will?"

"Hope--aye, lass, a right good hope--and luck to Will Scarlett comesin the bonny ship. " Bet sighed. Will's blue eyes were looking at herin the moonlight. 

"I'll go home now, " she said, gently. She sighed again, and half turnedaway her head from her companion. 

"There's a many people have things to be thankful for, " she said, presently. "I ain't one of them. I think I'll wish you good-night now, Will. Good-night, and--yes, good luck. " She turned away without evenoffering her hand, plunging suddenly down a narrow court which wouldlead her out into the front of the town nearest to her home. 

Will hesitated for a second; then, the blood surging up into his face, and his heart beating quickly, he ran after her. 

"Bet, " he cried. "Bet!" He heard her footsteps hurrying faster andfaster on ahead of him. Presently, hearing his step, she began to run. He raced after her; he was fleeter than she was, and caught her up bythe lamp-post round the corner. 

"What did you do that for?" he said to her, almost angrily. "You hadno call to give me the slip in that fashion. I hadn't said my say. "

"I wanted to get home, " said Bet--"the boys will be waiting for theirsupper, and I have nothing more to talk about. "

"But I have, " said Will, resolutely--"just a few words, Bet; they won'ttake long. I made up my mind long ago, only I did not think I'd speakuntil I had summut to offer. Now I have nought but the name of anhonest fellow--only that seems better than nothing at all. Bet, willyou wed me if I can manage it afore I sail in the 'Good Queen Anne'?"

Bet looked up with an angry flash in her red-brown eyes. 

"Are you mad, Will Scarlet?" she said, "My mother's lying dead, andyour ship sails to-morrow night. "

"No matter that. If a parson, or the registry office, or any power onGod's earth, can make us man and wife to-morrow, Bet why shouldn't webe mated? You have no one in all the world to look after you. Thereain't a braver nor a more lone lass in all Liverpool, and I love youwith all the strength of my heart. Why shouldn't it be better for meto be your mate than to have no one to take your part, Bet? The voyagewill soon be made, and I'll come back with money in my pocket, andwhile I'm away your father cannot do much agin you if you have wedwith me. "

All the time Will was talking Bet walked faster and faster. When hehad done speaking, however, she had relaxed her steps. They had reacheda comparatively deserted place, and, to his surprise and ecstasy, Willfelt her lay a timid hand on his arm. 

"But I don't love you, " she said, sorrowfully. 

"You wouldn't want to mate with a girl what didn't love you, Will. "

Will caught her hand and held it tightly between both his own. 

"There's nought that I mind, except to be a bit of use to you justnow, Bet, " he said. "You are the lonest lass in this city, and it wouldbe a sight better for you to be wed to me. You ain't afeard, are you?I'll be faithful to you to my dying day, and we have known each othersince we were little tots. "

"Yes, " said Bet, slowly, "and mother liked you, and you can sing fitto wile any lass' heart away; but I don't love you, Will, and I sworelong ago that I'd never, never wed. "

"You'd never wed?" repeated Will. "There's more lads than me wouldhave a word to say agin that. You ask twenty honest fellows who hasthe straightest step and bonniest face in the town, and they'd sayfast enough it was Bet Granger. You are but joking me when you talkin that fashion, Bet. "

"No, Will, it is true. It's a vow I made, and it's my way not to goback of things. When I looked at mother, and see'd the way fathertreated her, I made up my mind never to wed with none. I'll be no man'smate, and I'll trust myself to none. Good-night, Will, You mean itkindly; and I'd like to ask God, if I was sure that He was there atall, to bless you. Good-night, goodnight. "

CHAPTER V. 

As Will Scarlett walked home to the small room which he occupied, notvery far from his cousin Hester Wright, he was overtaken by a youngsailor of about his own age, who linked his arm in his and spoke tohim in a half-tipsy, half-jocular voice. 

"You was going to give me the slip, Will. And where be you off to atthis hour of night?"

"To bed, and to sleep, " said Will, shortly. He was in no mood for hiscompanion's idle chatter, and resented the firm grip he had taken ofhis arm. 

"Then it ain't true what I heard, " said Isaac Dent. "You're down onyour luck, and a bit crusty; and you wouldn't be that ef the news weretrue. "

"What news?" said Will "I'm tired, and that's the truth, Dent. I wantto turn in early; for most like I'll be on the briny ocean this timeto-morrow. "

"Then you are going in the 'Good Queen Anne. ' Never knew such a fellow!The best ship in the docks, and you to get a berth in her. I wouldn'tbe crusty to a less lucky mate if I was in your shoes. "

Will sighed. They had come in front of a brilliantly-lighted public-house, and a flood of gaslight lit up both faces. For a sailor Willwas tall, slenderly built, with dark clustering curling hair, and verybright, very honest blue eyes. His companion was short and thick-set--hehad a flat head, large ears set rather higher up, and small cunningeyes. He was not pleasant-looking, and Will, although one of the mostunsuspicious of mortals, regarded him with small favor. 

"Come in, and have a parting drink for good luck, " said Dent, pointingto the gaily-lit public house. 

Will shook his hand from his arm. 

"You know my mind on that point, " he said. "We took a voyage together, so we needn't talk it all out now. Good-night, Dent, I'm off to bed. "

But Dent had no idea of letting Will off so easy. 

"Look here, " he said--"what shall I pay you for that berth of your'n?It ain't nothing to the cap'n who sails with him, and I wants to getaway. What will you take?"

Will felt his face flushing; then he laughed indignantly. 

"What folly you talk, Dent. Even suppose I were willing, you haven'tsixpence--you know you haven't. "

"May I go home with you?" said Dent, "and I'll show you what I have. I'm in real earnest--I want to get away, and I can pay for it. The'Good Queen Anne' is quite to my mind--time for sailing, length ofvoyage--all just what I wants. I'll give you ten pound if you'll dropthat berth of yours in my favor. There--I can't speak fairer thanthat. "

All the time Dent was speaking Will had walked on stoically. There wasnot the faintest appearance of wavering about him; but Dent, who wasa shrewd observer of character, and knew this particular young sailorwell, guessed that Will's teeth were set hard, and that there was astruggle going on in his breast. 

"May I come home with you, mate, " he said, "just for a bit, to talkthe matter over quiet like? I ha' got ten pound--no matter how and nomatter where--and it's yours just to let me go to sea this week insteadof next. A handy, neat-looking sailor like you, Will, need never belong out of a berth, and it's vital for me to get away just now. Tenpound, just to oblige a mate! You won't get such an offer again in ahurry, Scarlett. "

"Stop!" said Will, suddenly. "What child is that? I'll be back withyou in a minute if you'll wait by the corner, Dent, but I must followup that littl'un--he have no call to be out at this hour. "

Will made a step or two forward, and found himself in the midst of asmall crowd who were admiring the antics of a very small and grotesqueperformer. A little boy with reddish hair and blackened face was turningsomersaults with wonderful rapidity in the centre of the pathway. Another boy, cap in hand, stood by his side. The boy who performed andthe boy who begged both looked audacious and disreputable; but, owingto their tiny statures, and the cadaverous whiteness of their faces, there was something pathetic in the spectacle. The boy who stood withhis cap waiting for stray half-pence or pence to be dropped into it, had large blue eyes, which were turned with marvelous rapidity, firstin the direction of one spectator, then in that of another. He couldpick out the people who were hopeful, and whose purse-strings werelikely to be loosened, with the swiftest of glances; and his littlecap received many doles, considering the nature of the crowd who lookedon. 

Dent, who had come up to Will, tossed the boy a half-penny, and thenbegan to laugh heartily, at the rapid contortions of the little acrobat. 

"Stop that!" said Will, angrily. 

He stepped into the middle of the crowd, and caught the revolving boysuddenly by his shoulder. 

"You have no call to be out at this hour, Nat--nor you neither, Thady. What will your sister say when she finds you not in? Bad boys--runhome this minute. This ain't what your mother would have liked; andyou know it. "

The boy called Thady, otherwise the captain, raised his blue eyes, nowswimming in tears, to Will's face. 

"We was that 'nngry, " he said. "And Bet were out. Yer's a lot ofcoppers; we'll do now. Come along home, Gen'ral. "

The two scampered away, flying with their bare feet along the slipperystreets, and in a moment were out of sight. 

Dent stared hard at Will, whose face showed some agitation. 

"So those are the two little Granger lads, " he said. "Well, I tell youwhat-their sister's far and away the handsomest girl in Liverpool. "

"She's well enough, " said Will, shortly. "The boys had no call to beout so late--and to-night of all nights. Their mother is lying dead, and Bet's in trouble. Good-night, Dent. I ha' made up my mind to sailin the `Good Queen Anne. ' I won't trouble you to come home with me, although I'm obleeged for your offer. "

The light was falling on Will's face. Dent looked up at him sharply. 

"So Bet Granger's mother is dead, " he said. "Well, she's a handsomelass. I mean to marry her, if I can, arter next voyage. "

"Ef you can, " said Will. 

Dent noticed his violent stand, and then the quick restraint he putupon himself. 

"Yes, " repeated Dent. "And her father's willing, for I spoke to him. I'll marry her arter this voyage, or maybe I'll marry her afore, efyou don't let me buy your berth from you, Will. Come, shall I go homewith you? Any one with half an eye can see that you have no mind forthe ocean wave just at present. Let's come in, Scarlett--we're closeto your lodgings now--and finger the bit of gold I ha' by me ascomfortable as we please. "

"You worry a fellow almost to death, " said Will; but he made no furtherobjection, and the two went up to Will's tiny bedroom at the top ofa tall house. 

They were closted together for about an hour. At the end of that timeDent came downstairs whistling triumphantly, but with a very ugly lookabout his face. He had bought a berth on board the "Good Queen Anne"for two crisp Bank of Englandfive-pound notes, but the loss of themoney seemed to cause him more relief than otherwise. 

"And don't you think, Scarlett, that you'll get the girl either, " hesaid to himself, "for I mean to have her for myself. And if this littletrick hasn't checkmated you, my fine lad, I'll find summut else tospoil your bit of a game. "

Upstairs Will was fingering the paper money, with a queer dazedexpression on his face. 

What had he done? Given up his berth on the bonny ship, and his chanceof a voyage after his own heart--given it up, too, for Isaac Dent, afellow whom he was quite sure was more or less a bit of a scoundrel. Will was honest, unsuspicious, and guileless; but even he could notquite think the best of a man with Dent's physiognomy. 

"And I care nought at all for the money, " he said to himself. "Onlymaybe it 'ud come in handy, if she wor to wed me 'twixt this week andnext. _He_ shan't have her with his ugly face. But she wouldn'tlook at him. She said to-night that it worn't for her ever to wed, butmaybe as I can bring her round. I'll find another berth next week, andI'll speak to Hester to-morrow, and a deal can be done in a week. Shesaid she didn't love me, but--who knows? Bet's a wild one, and adesperate earnest one. Ef she could bring herself to say just once, 'I love you, Will. ' it 'ud be as good from her as if she said it everyday. It's once and always with Bet. Well, I shouldn't ha' stayed nowef Dent hadn't let out that he meant to make up to her. Dent shan'tcross her path if I can help it. She's the bravest lass in Liverpool, and the handsomest to look at; and I'll have her, if fortune will favorme, and the good God above help me. 'I don't love you, Will, ' she said;but for that matter, Barbara Allen said much the same, and yet shedied for love arter all. When I think of that, and remember how Bet'seyes lit up, and how pitiful she looked, when I sang of Barbara Allen, I ain't sorry as Dent has got my berth. A week off the ocean wave ain'ttoo much to give up for the sake of Bet Granger. "

CHAPTER VI. 

Hester Wright was a popular, but by no means, in the usual acceptanceof the word, a specially good woman. She was the reverse ofstrait-laced; her morals were nothing in particular, and her ideas onall subjects, whether on righteousness or wickedness, the broadest ofthe broad. She went neither to church nor chapel on Sundays--sheprofessed no religion, although when pressed on the point she wouldnot admit that it worn't there. "May be it wor, " she would say, onlyshe had no time for it just now. She did not blame people for goingto the public-house, although she never went herself, simply becausethat special place did not suit her special temperament; but she wasextremely fond of spending her evenings at the penny theatres, or othercheap and decidedly low places of entertainment. There she would enjoyherself, looking on with eager interest at the coarse and gaudyrepresentations of so-called "life. " She would never laugh loudly, however, or applaud noisily, although she encouraged and smiled atthose who did. She was very poor, but she was always neat in her person;and the expression in her big black eyes gave her a look a little aboveher station, so that, although she was not handsome, those who saw heronce often turned to glance at her again. Wherever she went, in whatevercompany she found herself, she was invariably good-natured. Indeed, although she was not in the least aware of the fact, she was a mostunselfish person. If a tired-out and hard-worked mother was seen pushingher way to the front at Hester's favorite theatre, The Cleopatra, Hester invariably resigned her own seat in her favor, and took thebaby and amused it while the mother looked on and laughed. For girlsand boys, particularly girls and boys who were sweethearting, she hada strong sympathy, getting them together in a very quiet and unobtrusivemanner, and taking the keenest pleasure in promoting their happiness. She was extremely popular with the Liverpool girls, and this popularitywas the great delight of her life. The girl who would not go near theparson or the Sunday-school teacher, or the Sister of Mercy, wouldpour out her woes or her joys into Hester's sympathetic ears--wouldreceive the advice Hester gave, eagerly, and as a rule, if it werepalatable or not, act upon it. No handsome young girl had the leastcause to be jealous of Hester; for although she was still comparativelyyoung, and had a power of attraction accorded to few women, it waswell known in Hester's very wide circle of indiscriminate acquaintancesthat she had long ago vowed a vow, far more solemn than Bet's in herignorance, to take to herself no mate, and to share her life with noone. Hester's mate that shou'd have been had gone away far over theocean and never come back again. He had been drowned at sea; andalthough she made no fuss and paraded her sorrow before no one, yetother men saw it would be useless to think of her as a wife. She wasnot aparticularly industrious woman, and was perfectly indifferent tothe comforts of life. She kept her room clean and neat, because, notwithstanding the queer medley which her character presented, shehad certain refinements about her, cropping up in all sorts of queerdirections--one of them lay in her great regard for personal neatness, the other in her wonderful gift of song. Hester could laugh at a coarsejoke, but it was quite impossible for her to lend her voice to singinga coarse song. She liked old ballads best, and her choice of music wasquite wonderful for a person of her education. If she had a stronglove or passion it was for popularity. She liked to see the young ladsor lasses crowding around her, begging for a song, or asking her foradvice or help of any kind. She was a good worker, and got plenty todo from one of the beet boys' outfitting shops in Castle Street; butshe was always extremely poor, and often knew what it was to be hungry, for she gave her money away quite as fast as she earned it. Herbeautiful voice, although only used for the benefit of the lowest ofthe people, had brought to her more than one offer of lucrativeemployment from the managers of music-halls and cheap theatres. ButHester would have nothing to say to such proposals. 

"I ain't keen about money, " she would answer, "and I won't sell myvoice. Somehow, it would take the joy out of it. "

On the night after Hester had taken Bet home, she found herself in theentrance of The Cleopatra Theatre, about seven o'clock. A new piecewas to be put on the stage that night, and the entrance to the smallpit was already crowded with rough men and frowsy, untidy, disreputablegirls. They all nodded to Hester, and seemed pleased to see her, andone or two made way to get her to the front. 

"My Jack is coming presently, Hetty, " whispered a girl of the name ofSusan Jakes. "Set near me, like a dear, so as to keep a seat for himwhen he looks in. "

Hester often performed this kind office, slipping quietly into thebackground afterwards, without permitting any word of thanks. SusanJakes was a pale-faced girl, with light flaxen hair and pale blue eyes;she was rather pretty and very neglected-looking. When she saw "myJack" her somewhat hard little face assumed a womanly and beautifulexpression. Hester took her hand and gave it a squeeze. 

"We'll keep side by side until Jack Masters comes, " she whispered. 

The girl and Hester, by reason of Hester's great popularity, got intoquite a foremost position in the pit. Jack Masters arrived abouthalf-an-hour afterwards, and just before the curtain was raised. Hescarcely thanked Hetty--it was the usual thing for her to keep seatsfor the girl's sweethearts. She moved aside into quite the back of thecrowded pit, and stood leaning against the wall. A dreadfullytired-looking woman touched her arm. 

"I've got out, Hetty Wright--he's at the public, and I'm here. Ain'tit fine?"

"What have you done with the children?" asked Hester. "Yes, I'm gladyou're in for a bit of pleasure, Mrs. Jones. "

"See, " said Mrs. Jones, pushing aside her shawl with a triumphantsmile, "you overlooked her, the crowd's so great, but little Sarah'shere. I put the others to bed, and neighbor Bryce will feed Tommy ifhe cries; but I brought little Sal along o' me. My! ain't she peartwith delight? We're both that starved to see a bit of real gentry life, and to hear a good song or two. "

Sal was a very minute maiden of eight years of age. Her whole smallface was radiant with anticipation, but she could see nothing over theheads of the crowd. Instantly Hester lifted her into her arms. 

"Lean on me, Sal, " she said, "and look your fill. See, the curtain isup, and the play is going to begin. "

It was a new piece and alas! only half prepared. A wretched performanceit would have been at its best, badly put on, badly acted--coarse, common, the reverse of all that was lifelike; but, nevertheless, theseeager, hungry, expectant people would have been abundantly contentwith the most extravagant representations if they had only been carriedon with the smallest show of life or spirit. The actors, however, whonone of them knew their parts, struggled on miserably for a scene ortwo, and then broke down utterly. It does not cost much to go to apenny theatre, but the people who frequent such places are, of allthose in the world, the most anxious to get their money's worth. Therewas instantly an uproar and a clamor, and the house resounded withhisses, which but for a small incident would quickly have broken intoyells. 

The incident was this: Just when the piece was wavering to its miserableand final crash, Hester felt some hot, soft tears dripping on her face. 

"I don't like it, " said little Sal, "And they don't sing. I'm hungryto hear 'em sing--I'm hungry to hear 'em sing just one song. "

"Yes, it's a biting disappointment, " whispered the mother. "Sal ha'been telling of nothing else all day. She'd give all the world to hearjest a song, and it seems to me as they can't do nothing--not evenspeak. "

Just then the crash came. The curtain was lowered, and the manager, purple in the face, came hastily and eagerly to the front. Little Salput her head down on Hester's neck and wept bitterly, and then beganthe hisses and the cries of "Shame!"

"Never mind, Sal--I'll sing to you, " whispered Hester. Quick as thoughther resolve was taken. She was not the least self-conscious, but shewas full of pity for the people. If every child in the room--and therewere several--wanted a song as badly as Sal did, she could satisfy thesmall disappointed hearts. 

She pushed her way through the crowd, saying to each who tried tohinder her--

"Let me pass, I'll sing to you; you know I can sing. "

Her words were caught up, and cheers for Hester Wright ran through thehouse from her friends--and most there knew her, and were herfriends--long before she reached the wings, and joined the astonishedmanager, who stood wavering, and in a considerable state of terror, on his deserted stage. 

"I'll sing, " said Hester, speaking to him eagerly and quickly. "Thechildren are bitterly disappointed, and a song or two will quiet thewhole house. Let me; I know how. "

The manager was a stranger in the town, and had no acquaintance withthe dark-eyed, intense woman who addressed him. The crowd, however, cheered and vociferated. Their ill-humor was changed into the mosthearty approval. 

"Just like Hetty, bless her, " whispered Susan Jakes to her sweetheart. "Just like Hetty, " resounded all over the small house. Be the womanmad or not, the manager saw she was popular, and his brow cleared. 

"Yes, sing--sing anything, " he responded, in a voice of intense relief. "I'll pay you anything in reason--only sing, and keep them quiet. Thisis an awful minute for me. "

"I'll sing for the children, and not for money, " said Hester, flashingan angry glance at him; and then her magnificent voice arose, andfilled the house. 

For some reason, the ballad which she and her cousin had sung togetherfor Bet the night before was still ringing in her head. It rose easilyto her lips, and she sang it first, giving point and meaning to thewords in a way which took the manager by storm. What would he not giveto secure such a treasure as Hester Wright for his house? "Home, sweetHome, " came next; and then why she could not tell, perhaps because ofa pain which was tugging at her heart, perhaps because of the wearylook on some of the faces, and because a whole tide of memories wasthronging before her, she chose "The Land o' the Leal. " Such words, such melody, had never been heard before in that penny theatre. Thewomen looked wistful, and many of them wept. Hester seemed to singstraight into their very hearts. The men shuffled uneasily, and oneor two of them wiped their rough hands across their eyes. 

 "And oh, we'll all meet In the Land o' the Leal. "

sang Hester, and then her voice died away, and she turned and whisperedsomething to the manager and hastily disappeared. 

The men and women went home quietly; tender and long-forgotten feelingshad been briefly aroused, and very few who had visited The Cleopatrawent near the public-house that night. 

"Them was blessed words, " whispered little Sal's mother, "and she'sa blessed gel. Talk of saints, I call Hester Wright one, though shenever preached no sarmon. The 'Land o' the Leal'--why, it's there asour Johnny's gone. Bless her heart! The world ain't quite withoutcomfort, when one thinks of bits of words like them. "

CHAPTER VII. 

Hester was excited and overwrought; she could not meet any of thecrowd, and took refuge in one of the deserted wings, until, as shehoped, every one had dispersed. As she was quietly leaving the wingsshe was met, much to her annoyance, by the manager. He was a coarse, florid-faced person, but he took off his hat to Hester, as if she hadbeen the finest lady in the land. 

"I thank you most heartily, " he said. "You have saved me--you havesaved the house. Now, what shall I give you? A pound, two pounds? I'llgive them to you--yes, gladly; and I'll engage that you come hereevery night at a fair salary. What's your address, my good girl, andwhat's your name? You've got a voice to be proud of, and that I willsay. "

"I told you I would not sing for money, " said Hester, angrily. "Good-night, sir. I'm glad I gave the children and the women a bit ofpleasure, but my voice ain't to be bought for no money. You ain't thefirst as has wanted it, but it ain't for you. Good-night, sir. I'msorry as you think so little of the people what come here. They havehard lives, and they want their bit of pleasure, and you shouldn'ttake their money, what ain't easy to get, ef you have nothing to showthem for it. I sang for the people to-night, not for you. My voice andme, we belong to the poor folk of Liverpool. Good-night, sir-you havenought to thank me for. "

She rushed out of the open door, not heeding the manager's outstretchedhand, nor the raised tones with which he sought still to detain her. It was late now, nearly eleven o'clock, and the public-houses wouldbe closed in about a quarter of an hour. A miserable old dame stoodshivering by one, and looking wistfully into the warm and brilliantlylighted place. She turned her wan and wretched face round when sheheard Hester approaching. 

"Good-night, Hetty Wright, and may the Virgin bless you!" she calledout. 

"Good-night, Mrs. Flannigan--why, how white and starved you look!Here's twopence; go in and get a drop of gin. "

Hester dropped the coins into the old dame's hand, and hurried quicklythrough the damp streets. 

The wretched woman gazed at them in a kind of petrifaction. Twopencefrom a girl as poor as herself, and she was to buy gin with the money?Gin! Never before had she been told to go and buy gin. Why, themissionaries, and all the good folks round, said it was the curse ofthe land. And so it was: had it not brought her to what she was? hadit not sent her only son to an untimely grave? Oh, yes--none knewbetter than mother Flannigan what gin meant--what cursing and whattears, and what misery it had caused; and yet the girl with the whiteface and the great dark earnest wistful eyes had given her twopenceto buy it, and told her to get warm and comforted. Oh, yes, gin wasbad, but it was very comforting; she would have her two-pennyworth, and she would go home, and forget her hunger, and sleep comfortablyall night. It was really good of that decent, pale-faced girl to giveher twopence to spend in gin. She knew her: she was the girl with thevoice, the girl about whom some of the neighbors, even in the Irishquarter, raved. 

With the memory of Hester's face firmly fixed on her dazed old brain, Mother Flannigan entered the public-house. Then a queer thing happened. By the side of Hester's pure, highly-wrought face arose the pictureof another--of a very suffering, thirsty little grandchild, who laywaiting for her on a bed of straw at home. Instantly the desire forgin departed--the old woman purchased instead two-pennyworth of veryblue and watery milk, and hurried away to give her grandson a drink. 

When Hester reached her lodgings the overwrought mood was still uponher. She lit her fire, however, and put the kettle on to boil. Then, throwing aside her hat and thin black cashmere shawl, she sat downbeside her little deal table, placed her elbows on it, and stared hardbefore her. Just at that moment she was suffering acutely--a tumultof mingled feelings possessed her; she was unsatisfied, and longingfor she knew not what. A weaker woman in such a mood would have relievedher overcharged brain with a flood of tears. Instead of crying, Hestersang. For a woman with no religion, and no belief in religion, thequeerest words arose to her lips. She had sometimes listened outsidethe churches to the swelling organs and the music of the choirs; once, when an anthem was being very exquisitely rendered, she had stolenfascinated inside the church porch. Now the words of this anthem cameto her lips, and floated on her splendid voice through the drearylittle attic room:

_"Oh, rest in the Lord; wait patiently for him--patiently for him;and he will give thee thy heart's--thy heart's desire. "_

There came a knock at the door, and Hester sprang to her feet. 

"Come in, " she said. And Will Scarlet stepped into the room. 

"Why, Hetty, how lovely you are making the night with that voice ofyourn. I didn't rightly catch the words nor the air--what were they?"

"Oh, words I picked up, Will. It's a way of mine never to lose eitherwords or air that take my fancy. But what are you doing in my room, Will Scarlet? I thought you'd be miles away on the waves, in the 'GoodQueen Anne, ' by now. "

"And I wish I were, Hetty. But I've a bit of a yarn to spin on thathead. May I sit by your fire for a bit and say my say?"

"To be sure, Will. And you shall have a cup of tea with me, I'm justmaking a brew. I expect I were a bit lonely at the thought of yourbeing so far away, cousin; and I'll say frankly I'm real glad to haveyou sitting again by my fireside. "

Will smiled. His likeness to Hetty was very marked at this moment, more particularly so as on his usually careless and almost boyish facethere sat an unusual cloud of perplexity and trouble. 

"The fact is, Het-I may as well have it all out at once-I'm in a bitof a taking. I had a talk with Bet Granger last night, and I offeredto wed her. I didn't see how she could do better than to give herselfto me. I has set my heart on her for years, and I thought it would bea kind of a help to her ef she had my name to hold on by, even if Iwere away at sea. And so I thought we might be wed as soon as ever aparson could tie us up. I hadn't much to offer her, but I were realin earnest, and she could see it. "

"Yes, Will; and what did she say?"

Hester had dropped on one knee, and was gazing intently into hercousin's face. 

"Oh, she flouted me, Hetty--said she had vowed to wed no one, and allthat sort of thing. Poor Bet--she have sperrit of her own, and lifehave never gone easy with her. She seemed to think she was sorry forme. She makes out that she's all as hard as brass, but she ain'treally. "

"No, she ain't really, " repeated Hester. "It's all a kind of cloak. I ha' used it myself, but Bet overdoes it. Ef ever there's a girl witha great warm heart it's Bet Granger. "

Will's eyes were shining at the words of praise. 

"God bless you, Hetty!" he said. 

Hester looked at him anxiously. 

"Poor lad! And she wouldn't have nought to do with you? I'm sorry foryou, Will, but Bet ain't the girl not to know her own mind. Ef sherefused you, lad, why didn't you join the crew of the 'Good QueenAnne'? It ain't best for a lad like you to be loafing about Liverpool. I'm main sorry you ha' lost your berth in the good ship, Will. "

"You must hear me out, Hester. I haven't half told my yarn. "

Then Will related what befell him the night before-how Dent walkedhome with him, and begged to buy his place in the ship; how Will wasfirm in his refusal until Dent declared his intention of going in forBet, and making her his wife at any cost. 

"He shan't have her, " said Will, clenching his fist. "A fellow likeDent!-why, he's a real bad 'un, Hester. Why, he swears dreadful, andhe drinks deep, and he's cruel. Ef you had seen how he treated thecabin boy when we was mates together in the `Betsy Prig' you wouldn'tlike the feel of knowing that a girl what you loved more than all theworld should even set eyes on him. Why, he's a worse man than Bet'sfather, and that's saying enough. "

"Yes, it's saying enough, " said Hester. "And so you sold your berthto Isaac?"

"Yes-I wanted to get rid of him, and I can soon find another. Liverpool's a bit a fresher place to-night because he's not in it. "

"And what did he give you, Will?"

"Ten pounds, in Bank of England notes. I have them in my pocket. ShallI show them to you, Hester?"

"No, no; only keep them close. Don't talk of them, and don't changethem until you can't help yourself. This is a bad part of town for alad to have a bit of money in. You keep your lips sealed about it, Will--that is, if you want to keep the money. "

"Never fear, " said Will. "I think I have sold my berth for mightylittle. "

Hester rose from her place by the fire. She began to pour the boilingwater into her little cracked teapot, and now she placed it on the hobto draw. 

"What floors me, Will, is this, " she said, --"how did a fellow likeDent come by so much money? Ef there is a ne'er-do-well it's Dent; andI want to know how he come by a lot of money like that. "

"I can't tell you, " replied Will. "I suppose he was well paid afterhis last voyage. He's a prime seaman, whatever else he ain't. He'd abit of gold or two in his pocket, and some silver besides thenotes--yes, now I come to think of it, he was remarkably flush of coinfor a chap like him. "

"Well, you hold by the notes, Will, and don't change them afore youneed. I suppose you'll be looking out for another berth now you havelost that in the 'Good Queen Anne'?"

"All in good time, Hester. I mean to wed Bet Granger first, "

"But you can't, Will, if the girl has no mind to have you. "

"I mean to wed her, " replied Will, in a dogged, resolute sort of voice. "Ef she has a heart--and I know she has a heart--she shall give it tome; and she shall love me, yes, as well--as well as I love her. Why, Hetty, that fellow Dent said that her father was on his side, and wouldhelp him to get Bet. Do you think arter that I'd leave Liverpool beforeI made her my lawful wife?"

CHAPTER VIII. 

In due course Mrs. Granger received a decent burial. There was moneyenough for this purpose in the burial club to which Granger subscribed;and Bet, rather to her surprise, saw that her father did not objectto doing the thing respectably for his dead wife. She and the littleboys and Granger himself, who was quite sober and looked remarkablysulky, attended the funeral. The short service was quickly over, andthe queer-looking band of mourners turned away. As they were leavingthe cemetery, a thick-set and ungainly man, with eyes closely set inhis head, and a hat slouched over his forehead, came up and spoke toGranger. 

"All right, Dent, " said Granger. 

Then he turned to his daughter. 

"You know Isaac Dent, don't you, Bet? You might ha' the manners togive him a civil word. "

Bet's eyes were red and swollen, for she had been crying bitterly. 

"Oh, yes, I know you, Isaac Dent, " she said; "but I ain't in no moodto talk now. Good-bye, father. "

"I'll be home presently, " called out Granger. "Have a bit of dinnerready for Dent and me-we'll be looking in presently;" and Bet, takinga small brother by each hand, walked away at a good pace. 

She had not replied to her father, and there was a very dogged, determined look on her handsome face. The two small boys chattered toone another, looked proudly down at their boots, which had been boughtnew for the occasion, and often glanced at Bet. She did not pay theslightest heed to their shrill childish chatter. Presently she haileda passing tramcar, and delighted her little brothers by taking themfor a ride outside. The three got down at the nearest point to SparrowStreet, which was the name of Bet's old address. They reached the houseand went upstairs. The one room where they had all lived for the lastcouple of years looked deserted, ugly, desolate. The bed on which thedead woman had lain was empty, the fire was out in the grate, and thebroken cups and saucers, out of which the little party had breakfastedbefore they started for the funeral, stood unwashed on the deal table. 

"Now, boys, " said Bet, the minute she had got the two little fellowsinto the room, "you ha' got to obey me. I'm your mother in future. Doyou mind?"

She had seated herself on a low chair, and drew her little brothersin front of her. They looked at her with their impudent and brighteyes. 

"The Cap'n says, " began Nat, glancing in his eager, quick, bird-likeway at his brother--"the Cap'n says--"

But Bet put her hand across the eager little mouth. 

"Never mind what Thady says now, Nat; we'll have plenty of time to gointo that by-and-bye. Now we have a deal to do, and very little timeto do it in. But first you two boys ha' got to give me a promise. "

"Promises is like pie-crusts, " said the Cap'n, drawing himself up tohis full tiny height, "I don't mind, nor do the Gen'ral there. Promisesis made to be broke. "

Bet shook the little speaker impatiently. 

"Look here, boys, there's no one loves you two, but me; and I do--yes, I do--with all my heart. There, boys, don't strangle me, " for theyboth fell upon her, covering her face and neck and lips with childish, most affectionate kisses. 

"Hurrah for Bet! There, Bet--we'll make no pie-crust promises to you. We'll promise, and we'll keep our words. We'd die afore we broke 'em!"concluded the Cap'n, stamping his small newly-shod foot with greateffect on the floor. 

"There's no one loves you but me, " continued Bet. "Mother did, butshe's with God--that is ef--ef--oh, yes, mother's with God. He's keepingher comfortable now, and she have forgot us all. Mother's no good fromthis out; and father--you know what father is, boys. Look me in theface--you know what father is. "

It took a great deal to quench the spirit of the audacious Grangertwins, but they looked subdued now. Their thin little faces grew ashade whiter. The two pairs of eyes gave a rapid glance towards thedoor, and the little figures pressed closer to Bet as if for protection. 

"You know, and so do I, " she continued, putting her strong arm roundthem with a most protecting gesture; "and so--and so--boys, I'm goingto take you away from father. And the only thing you ha' got to obeyme in is when I say 'hide!' you are to hide; and when I ha' to lockyou up, as I may have to do now and then, you won't play no larks onme, nor try to get away. "

"No--no!" they both vociferated eagerly. "We promise, we promise true. Hurrah for Bet--the best gel in Liverpool!"

"That'll do; now let's pack. We must be out of this room in tenminutes. "

The three flew about, Bet putting her own small possessions and theboys' scanty wardrobe into an old shawl of her mother's. It took farless than ten minutes to make a bundle of the poor possessions. At thelast moment Bet went over to the bed, laid her head face downwards onher mother's pillow, and reverently kissed the place where the deadcold head had rested. 

"That's a seal to my promise, " she whispered; and then, slinging thebundle across her shoulder, she again took the boys' hands and wentdownstairs. 

At the entrance to the house she met her landlord, a man of the nameof Bounce. 

"Ah, my dear, and where are you off to?" he said, in his most facetiousvoice. 

"I am going away, Mr. Bounce, " replied Bet, gravely; "you can tell myfather--he'll be in presently--as I ain't a-coming back. Neither menor the boys is a-coming back. Good-bye. "

She did not wait for the landlord's surprised answer, but his rudelaugh floated after her down the street. 

There are slums and slums in Liverpool, as elsewhere, and Sparrowstreet, which Bet had left, seemed by contrast to Paradise Row, whichshe presently entered, a thoroughly respectable, indeed genteel, placeof residence. Paradise Row was not very far from the river. It wasentered by a court, court of not more than twenty feet square. Underone of the houses there was an archway, and it was only through thisarchway that any one could approach Paradise Row, This charming andmost suitably-named place of residence consisted of twenty houses atone side of the street and twenty at the other. The houses were high, and the street between was not more than ten feet across. There wereno pathways, and no apparent drains of any sort. The houses got closertogether as they approached the sky, so that it would not be impossiblefor an agile person in case of pursuit to throw a board across fromhis window to the one opposite, and so effect an escape. There werenot a great many panes of glass in the windows--rags and pieces ofboard taking the place of this precious commodity. It was anevil-looking-place, and the two little boys, accustomed as they wereto a very rough life, looked at Bet in some surprise as she led themthere. 

"This is a rum go, " whispered the general under his breath; but thelittle blue-eyed captain was silent, drawing himself up very erect, and trying to imitate his sister's stately carriage. 

Presently Bet paused at a door, and went in. 

"Is Mother Bunch in her room?" she asked a red-haired unkempt-lookingboy, who, with a short pipe in his mouth, was leaning against thedoorway. He did not trouble himself to remove the pipe, but pointedin the direction of a certain door. Bet went forward, and opened itwithout knocking. A very stout woman of between fifty and sixty wasstanding before a wash-tub. Her arms were bare to the elbows, andcovered with suds. Her blue winsey petticoat was tucked up above herankles; her large feet were destitute of shoes and stockings. She hada broad face, a snub nose, and two twinkling good-humored eyes. Notwithstanding her dirt-and she was very dirty-the first glance intoher face gave one a certain feeling of comfort and confidence. Thiswas curious; for Mother Bunch had the loudest tongue and the moststalwart arm in Paradise Row; she was, in short, the terror of theplace and the adjacent neighborhood. Bet, however, approached herwithout a particle of fear; she knew that Mother Bunch was a goodfriend as well as a good foe. 

"I ha' come, " she said, going straight up to her. "And here are theboys. This one is Cap'n, and this one is Gen'ral. They're rare 'unsfor fighting, poor lads; and they ain't cowards. Have you got the roomfor us, Mother Bunch?"

"To be sure, honey, " replied Mother Bunch, wiping her arms, and smilingbroadly at Bet. "And indeed, and indeed, it's the truth I'm tellingyou, love, when I say that not a purtier or nicer little room couldbe found in the whole of the Row. You come along o' me, me dears-oh, and it's chape as dirt you're getting it, love!"

The burly Irishwoman panted and rolled her-self upstairs. Bet camenext, carrying her bundle, and the boys followed in the rear. Thestairs were slippery, and dark, and broken--full of dangers and pitfallsto all but the most wary. 

"Jump across here, love, " said Mother Bunch; "there's a hole two feetwide just by this corner, and you'd drop into the cellar ef you worn'tcareful. Oh, glory! but my breath's nearly gone--I'm bate entirely. I'm letting you the room chape as dirt, Bet Granger, 'cos I've tooka fancy to you, honey; and that's as true as my name is MollyO'Flaherty. 'Tis the Irish you have about you here, love--'tis themas is thrue to the backbone as is your neighbors, dear. Fight for you!honey, --oh, yes, we'll fight. Them boys, why they're Mother Bunch'sboys now. There, honey, there's your room, and as purty an attic asheart could wish. A shilling a week! Why, it's chaper than dirt! Nowthen, I must go back to hang up my bits of duds. There's the kay ofthe room, love, and Molly O'Flaherty's blessings on all three of yez. "

Mother Bunch turned, and thumped and bumped herself downstairs; andBet, her eyes bright, and a spot of intense color on each of her cheeks, turned round to the boys. 

"Look here, " she said excitedly--"we're as safe here as if we was inLondon. Do you think father will come to Paradise Row? and do you thinkhe'll face Mother Bunch? Yes, laddies, the room is small and close, and horrid and dirty; and I _hate_ it, but I won't give way, andI won't cry. I've got soap in this bundle, and washing soda, and anold brush, and we'll clean it up--you two and me--and make it fit formother's boys to live in. "

The little fellows, who were really frightened, cheered up at thesewords. The dreadful attic, with its slanting roof and its tiny skylightwindow, was illuminated by brave, handsome Bet's presence, and by thecomforting knowledge that the wretched man who called himself theirfather could give them no blows nor kicks here. A miserable neighborin an opposite attic presently heard the three laughing as they worked. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Soap-and-Water can effect wonders, and by the evening Bet's atticlooked like another place. She and the boys had worked with heartygood-will; three pairs of vigorous young arms had removed cobwebs, andscattered dirt, and let in a little fresh air. After all, there wereworse rooms in this house than the upstairs unused attic, and the airwhich blew right down from the sky when Bet opened the tiny window waspure and sweet. The energetic girl had saved all her nightly earningssince her mother's death, and now she had three or four shillings inher pocket. Accompanied by the twins, who looked at her with adoringeyes, she went out presently, and purchased coals and food; and thethree that evening, after the fire was lit and the kettle boiled, feltquite sociable and almost festive. Bet's heart was lighter than it hadbeen since her mother's death; she did not despair of doing well forher brothers, and of bringing them up in such a way, and with such adue regard for religion, that by-and-bye they should meet their motherin the land where she now dwelt. 

"Ef she's there--ef there is a future, she must have Nat and Thadywith her, " concluded Bet, as she watched the two small lads polishingoff a hearty meal of bread and tea. "That's my part--to train 'em soas they'll choose religion and go to mother by-and-bye. "

When the meal was over she called the boys to her. "Kneel down now, both of you, and say your prayers, " she said. "Say 'Our Father 'chartheaven' and 'Matthew, Mark, Luke, John. '"

"Mother didn't teach us 'Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, '" said thecaptain. 

"Well, love, say what she did teach; and be quick, for I must go outto buy and sell my papers. "

The captain and the general knelt down obediently, closed their eyes, folded their hands, and went through the Lord's Prayer in high sing-songchanting voices. Then the general was silent--he opened his eyes andlooked impatiently at his brother. 

"That's all, " he said. 

"No, it ain't all, " repeated Thady, "I'm a-try-ing to thing--don'tkeep nudging me, Nat--

 'In the kingdom of Thy Grace Grant a little child a place. '

That's it, yes, that's it--and Nat, shut your eyes and say what I'msaying--' God bless Bet for ever and ever. Amen. '"

Nat joined in this last clause with hearty goodwill, and Bet felt aqueer sensation coming into her throat. She kissed the little boys, locked the door upon them, and went out. 

There were no girls in Paradise Row exactly like Bet. In the firstplace she was clean; in the next, she carried herself like a princess. She was so well made, and her head so beautifully set upon hershoulders, that it was impossible for her to be awkward. Her uncoveredhead with its wealth of hair shone with a kind of radiance when shepassed under any lamp-post. Her lips were finely set, and she glancedscornfully and with a sort of touch-me-not air at any man or woman whohappened to look at her with admiration. Her own defiant young stepsand her own proud disdainful face were her best protection. Even inthis rough Irish quarter no one molested her with an uncivil word. Shefelt quite hopeful to-night--the little boys' love and confidencecheered her. Thady's short prayer had touched the really great anddeep heart which slumbered in her breast. 

"I'd die for 'em, poor little chaps, " she murmured; and she clenchedher hand at the thought of any evil touching them. "Why, it's well Ihave 'em; there's no one else as cares for Bet Granger. "

But then she thought of Will, and as she did so her heart quickenedits steady, even pulse. Will wasn't the sort of lad that a girl couldsay "No" to without a sensation of pain. Bet thought of him as bonny. "He's good--yes, he's good, " she murmured, and then she remembered thesong of Barbara Allen, and she found herself humming the words whichWill had sung in his strong, brave voice--

 "When he was dead and laid in grave. Her heart was broke with sorrow. "

"Folly!" said Bet, breaking off abruptly. "It ain't for me to thinkof no man; and I'm not Barbara Allen, and Will will get another girlto be a good mate for him some day. Poor Will--he's a bonny lad, allthe same. "

Bet had now reached the place where she purchased her papers. She madeher usual careful selection--so many of the _Star_, so many of the_Evening Echo_, so many of the _Herald_. With them tucked under her arm, she soon reached her own special beat, and standing under the lamp-light, with her goods temptingly displayed, had even more than her usualluck. A dark-eyed, bold-looking girl presently came up and spoke to her. 

"You seem to be doing a thriving business, Bet, " she said, with alaugh. 

"Same as usual" answered Bet. "This is about the best beat in Liverpool, and the gentlemen know me. I always give them their papers clean. "

Just then a customer came up who wanted an _Evening Echo_. TheEcho was a halfpenny paper. He gave Bet a penny, who returned him ahalfpenny change. When this customer had departed the black-eyed girlburst into a fit of laughter. 

"Well, you _are_ a flat, Bet Granger, " she said--"the greenestof the green. What can a gent like that want with a ha'penny? When Isells evening papers--and I've made a good thing of them round LimeStreet--I never has no change; that's my way. "

"Is it?" said Bet. "Well honesty's my way. I've nearly sold my papersnow, Louisa, so I'll say 'good-night. '"

"Do tell me what you made first. I ha' a mind to have a new beat--whatwill you sell me yourn for?"

"Sell my beat?" said Bet--"my beat, what mother bought for me? Notquite. "

She turned on her heel, and walked down the street. At the corner, toher great annoyance and vexation, she met her father. He was quitesober, and came up to her at once and put his hand through her arm. His small eyes looked keenly into her face. When he was sober he wasmore or less afraid of Bet. 

"So you give me the slip, my gel!" he said. "But I'm a bit too cutefor that sort of game. You'd better tell me where you ha' put thosetwo little boys of mine. They're my boys, not yourn, you may as wellunderstand. Where have you them hiding, Bet? I'll find out; so you mayas well tell me. "

"I don't mind telling you, father. They're with Mother Bunch in ParadiseRow--she have the care of them now. And, listen, father--they're goingto stay there. Ef you want the boys, you must get round Mother Bunchfirst. "

Granger's face grew purple. For some reason, this piece of informationwas most disconcerting to him. 

"You're a wicked, ungrateful gel, " he said. "You don't honor yourparents--you don't respect 'em as has been put over you by Providence. You're a bad 'un, you are, Bet Granger; and you'll come to no goodend. Them boys are mine, not yourn; and, for that matter, you are minetoo--you ain't of age, you know. "

"No, I'm not of age, " said Bet, in a quiet voice. "But the boys arewith Mother Bunch, and they'll stay there. Ef you really tries to get'em away I ha' quite made up my mind what to do. "

"And what's that, if I may be so bold as to ask?" inquired Granger, in a taunting voice. 

"Father, there's people here--yes, here, in this great bad Liverpool--who help children when they are treated cruel. If you try to get atthe boys I'll take 'em to the Refuge, and I can tell the people thereone or two things about you what won't sound too nice. "

This last frank statement on Bet's part was even more disagreeable toGranger than her first piece of news. He saw that his daughter wasstronger and had a better case than he could possibly have given hercredit for. This discovery did not, strange to say, increase his anger. His manner became quiet, and almost deferential. 

"Look you here, Bet--what's the good of argufying, and angering afellow what's your own father? You wouldn't stay in Paradise Row butfor me--now, would you, Bet? It ain't the place a likely girl like youwould fancy--is it, Bet?"

"I'm going to stay there, " said Bet; "it's no question of like or notlike. Mother Bunch's, Paradise Row, is where I'm to be found, ef I'mwanted. "

"But look you here, my lass--suppose I was to promise you faithfulthat I'd never touch the lads--that I'd leave them with you to bringup as you could--suppose I was to promise that most solemn, and meanit most faithful; and suppose I was even to go from Liverpool--quitefar away, say to London or some such place--would you stay in ParadiseRow then, Bet?"

Bet looked steadily at the man who walked with slouching gait at herside. From head to foot she viewed him. Then she said, in a sad, deeptone:

"You're not likely to make that promise, father. Ef you did--ef youmade it faithful and true, and ef you went away from Liverpool--whythen, then I would not stay in a place what I hates. "

Granger chuckled. 

"I thought you were my lass, arter all, " he said; "I thought as youwas bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh, and that you couldn't standwhat's real awful low slums--_you_, as has been brought up inSparrow Street. Why, it ain't likely--you, the neatest lass in thetown--you, as I'm proud to call my daughter! Look you here, Bet; I'llgive up the boys. Maybe I ain't fit for the sacred dooties of father. Maybe I am a bit rough, and a bit strong in my temper. I'll give upthe boys, and you shall have them, same as if they was your own. I'llgo away to Lunnon, and you shan't be fretted by the sight of your poorold father never no more, ef you make me a promise, like the good lassyou are. We all know what Bet Granger's promise is worth, and ef youmake it you'll keep it, Bet. "

"Yes, father; certain sure ef I make it I'll keep it. What do you wantme to say?"

"Why now--look you here, Bet; you'll never say again as your poor oldfather ain't mindful of you. I ha' got a mate for you, Bet--as finea seafaring lad as ever stepped--always sure of his berth, and earninglots of money--a fine, honest, brave jack-tar; and he'll put you ina little place of your own, and he'll do for you and the boys, andI'll go away to Lunnon. There, Bet--the day you marries him, yourfather'll take third-class fare to Lunnon. "

"Who is he?" said Bet. Her eyes shone, and the color flushed into hercheeks. Had Will Scarlett dared to go to her father. "Who is he?" sherepeated--"but oh! it was mean of him when I said as it couldn't be!"

Granger, who was watching her face, laughed loudly. 

"Ho-ho, my pretty lass, " he said, you look very bright about the facefor a girl what didn't care for a man. You take my advice, Bet, anddon't send away your sweetheart: no young maid should do that. There--Ineedn't tell you his name when you know it. Come back with me now toSparrow Street, and you shall see him, and we'll settle it all up, dayand all, afore the night is over. "

"I can't, father. "

Bet's face had now grown deadly white. 

"Will shouldn't ha' done it, for I give him my answer, and he knowsI'm not the girl to change. I can't do that either to help myself orthe boys, father. But what do you mean?" she added, suddenly, as aqueer look on Granger's face caused her to stop. She wheeled round andconfronted her father. 

"You can't be asking me to go home to meet Will Scarlett; for he'saway, miles away by now in the 'Good Queen Anne. '"

Granger burst into a loud, coarse laugh. 

"Will Scarlett!" he repeated--"Will Scarlett? So that's the way thewind blows, pretty lass? But I look higher than that strip of agood-for-nought feller for you. It's Isaac Dent, the best seaman inLiverpool, as would wed you, Bet, and make you the luckiest girl inthe place. "

Bet put her hand to her forehead. 

"Isaac Dent?" she repeated. "He drinks, he's cruel; he ain't evenhonest. Isaac Dent! Father, you must be mad. "

She turned on her heel, and flew down a dark court, which happened tobe near. 

Granger called after her, but she neither heeded nor heard him. Likemost cruel men, he was a coward. He dared not follow her into the placewhere she was seeking shelter. 

CHAPTER X. 

A few of the worst courts in Liverpool are absolutely without gaslight. It was into one of these now that Bet ventured. She leaned her backagainst the slimy, slippery, dirty wall, and breathed hard and fast. Her father could not see her nor find her there, and she was in a moodat that moment to fear no other living creature. Boys and men, girlsand women, talked and swore and quarreled and jostled one another inthe bad dark court. A lad of about twenty being pushed up against Bet, seized her familiarly by the arm; she flung him off like a young fury, and, wrapping her mother's plaid shawl which she wore about hershoulders over her head, ran out into the street. Her father was gone. Midnight was approaching, but the place was gayly lighted, for thiswas Saturday night, and the women, who could only get what was leftof their husbands' earnings on their return from the public-houses, were eagerly buying and chaffering, and making what preparations theycould for the coming Sabbath. No one molested or looked at Bet as shewalked rapidly back to Paradise Row. She reached her destination aboutmidnight, to find the whole house in what seemed to her the most awfulstate of uproar. Shouts and eager voices filled the air; loud laughter, screams of--"Hurrah! Well done! Do it again, Mother Bunch!" resoundedon all sides. The door of Mother Bunch's apartment stood wide open;the small room was a blaze of gas and glowing from the heat of a greatfire; and in the middle, with her arms a-kimbo, her head thrown back, and her bare feet twinkling merrily, stood Mother Bunch on a door, dancing, to the cheers of the audience, an Irish jig. As she danced, she sang; and it was to the tune of her merry voice and the movementsof her rapidly-revolving feet that the crowd of spectators laughed andcheered. 

"O, the shamrock, the shamrock, the green immortal shamrock--"

Mother Bunch sang these words with immense spirit, the Irish folks wholooked on and applauded joining heartily and with vociferous cheersin the chorus. Bet had been dragged into the room, where she stoodmoodily, her shawl thrown off her head and lying in picturesque softfolds of color on her shoulders. Her handsome face attracted attention, and several people looked at her wonderingly; and one very rough lookingman went up and addressed her. 

Before Bet could reply, Mother Bunch had ceased dancing--had sprungoff the dislodged door, which had been placed on the ground for herdisposal. 

"You leave this child alone, Dan Murphy; she isn't for the likes ofyou even to walk on the same side of the street with. Whoever says aword oncivil to this young girl shall have something to say also toMolly O'Flaherty. Now, out with yiz, neighbors all; the entertainment'sover, and it's time for good folk to be in the land of dhrames. Youstay ahint with me, Bet, darlint--I have a word for your private ear. "

It was quite evident that in Paradise Row Mother Bunch's smallestcommand was law; in an incredibly short space of time the little roomwas cleared, and Mrs. O'Flaherty and Bet were alone. 

"Now, look you here, my love, " said the Irishwoman, "you make what useyou can of this yere arum, " and she stretched out a most powerful, sinewy member for Bet's edification. "This arum shall come atween youand trouble, Bet Granger. You ask anybody round what they know ofMother Bunch, and a mimber such as this. You have no call to be fretted, honey, with this atween you and mischief. So go up to bed now; andswate dhrames to you, and the blessing of Molly O'Flaherty. "

There was something so hearty in the voice, and so kindly in the gleamof the Irishwoman's twinkling eyes, that Bet's overwrought heart wasstrangely stirred. She stooped down and kissed Mother Bunch on herforehead. 

"I trust you, " she said; "you're a safeguard to me and the littlelads. "

And then she went upstairs. 

Meanwhile, Granger, being much too cowardly to follow his daughterinto what was known as one of the dark courts of Liverpool, shuffledback in a discomforted and savage mood to his own superior place ofresidence in Sparrow Street. There he found Dent awaiting him. Splendidjack-tar as he was, no one could be more thoroughly disagreeable thanIsaac Dent when things, as he expressed it, "went agin' him. " He didnot care for his long wait in Granger's dreary, fireless room; and hecared still less for the remark with which Granger announced his return. 

"It's all no go, Dent, my man. I telled her what we said I'd tell her, and she went off in a mighty high tantrum. She's in Paradise Row withMother Bunch--she and the lads; and I don't know how I'm to get themaway from there. But, " continued Granger, sinking into the first seathe could find, and stretching out his muddy boots, "you're about righton one point, old man--Will Scarlett's the lad of her choice, and notyou. Why, she let it out as glib and innocent-like as gel could. WillScarlett's the man, Dent; so you may put that in your pipe and smokeit. "

Dent's ugly face grew a deep, dull red; his small eyes seemed to recedeinto his head, and grow deeper and more cunning. He did not speak atall for a moment or two, and when he did, the flush was succeeded bya more dangerous pallor. 

"Look you yere, mate, " he said--"you know a thing or two, and you hasgone pals with me in a thing or two. It's nought to me who Bet caresabout--she has got to be lawful wedded wife to me--or, or--you don'thandle the coin, --you don't handle none of the coin, Granger. And youknow a thing or two what would make it uncommon hot for you, if thewind was to blow in a certain quarter. You understand, and no wordsis needed. As to Will Scarlett, I checkmated him awhile back; so hedon't trouble me. I'll say good-night, now, pal. "

"Yes, but what's a fellow to do?" said Granger, in an extremely grumpytone. "Bet's a strong lass, and a cute lass, and a cunning one; andshe have got that Irishwoman Mother Bunch to back her up. I don't seewhat's to be done with a gel like Bet, if her will's fairly made up. "

"I'd know what to do with her, " grumbled Dent. He went as far as thedoor, then he turned suddenly--"Mother Bunch don't find her herbread-and-butter, I suppose?"

"No, no--Bet can do that for herself; she's a smart gel, and she havegot the best newspaper beat in Liverpool"

"Oh, the best beat, have she? And she's your daughter--not of age yet--and she has carried the kids away from you--and she defies you, andlaughs in your face? You couldn't think of a means of starving herout? Oh, no; not you! That good beat of hers--it were bought for her, weren't it?"

"Yes, years agone. Her Mother seed to that. "

"Seems to me that as Bet's yourn her newspaper beat is yourn too. There's a tidy bit of money to be made out of such places once in away; and there's such a thing as starving the wildest and sauciestlass in Liverpool into saying yea to your yea. A hint to the wise manis enough. I'll wish you good-night, mate. Only if I don't get thegirl afore long, I takes the next berth that offers, and my money goeswith me. Good-night to you, mate. "

Dent went downstairs, and a moment after was making his way home tohis lodgings. Bet had been perfectly right in speaking of this sailoras bad and cruel. Will was more than justified in any suspicions hemight form against him. As Dent now walked through the streets his lowtype of face looked very bad indeed; the expression of cunning--thatmost unpleasant, that most diabolical of all expressions--was mostapparent. It was past midnight now, and he cast sinister glances behindand around him. It would have been very unpleasant for him had certainpeople--Will Scarlett, for instance--the least idea he was still inLiverpool. Will, of course, supposed he was leagues away by now, snuglyensconced in that berth which he, Will, had been so loath to part with, on board the "Good Queen Anne. " Will would indeed have opened his eyeshad any one told him that Dent had never gone near the ship, and thatthe captain, after waiting and watching in vain for the bright youngsailor whose name he had entered on his log, was obliged to chooseanother hand in a hurry, and knew nothing whatever of the able seamanwhom Will now supposed was admirably filling his post. 

For Dent had never the least intention of going away in the "Good QueenAnne. " The one strongest desire of his life at present was to makehandsome Bet Granger his wife; and he certainly did not wish to giveWill a clear field in which he could woo and win her without dangeror difficulty. 

Dent had laid his own plans with care, and he was by no means depressedas to the possible result. When he reached his lodgings he lit a candle, and, first carefully locking the door, and looking round him with hismost sinister glance, he lifted a loose board under his bed, and tookfrom the recess beneath a sailor's checked pocket handkerchief. Heopened it, and spread out on the table about twelve sovereigns inshining gold. "Six for me, " he said, "and six for Granger, the day asBet's mine. I ha' got a few shillings still, to hold out, and Bet mustbe mine by-and-bye. Six sovereigns to spend on our honeymoon, and thento find another berth in another ship. But Will has got the notes. Imight have made a better bargain with Will. Ten pounds is a deal ofmoney to give away. But never mind--never mind: I have checkmated WillScarlett with them notes. "

CHAPTER XI. 

A few days before the present date of this story a fair-haired younglady, with gentle, beautiful brown eyes, who was known in many of theLiverpool slums as Sister Mary, was going home late. She was dressedas a Sister, and belonged to a religious institution; but she livedwith her own father and mother, in one of the great suburbs of thecity. She was indefatigable in visiting the poor and suffering, goingto their houses at all hours without a particle of fear, and comingscathless and without even an insulting word from many rough scenesand from many low haunts. 

On this particular night she had seen to the dying Mrs. Granger'scomforts, had said a word or two to Bet on her exit from the house, and then walked rapidly down Sparrow Street to the first tramcar whichwent in the direction of her home. A girl of her acquaintance got inalso at the same moment, and the two sat side by side talking onsubjects of mutual interest. The car was full; and a rough-lookingsailor, of the lowest type of face, was crushed up close to SisterMary. She sat with her back partly to him, and discoursed with eagernessto her companion. The sailor knew many tricks of sleight-of-hand--hewas, in short, a kind of Jack-of-all-trades, and the laudable professionof the professional pickpocket was by no means beneath his notice. Hemanaged to help himself to Sister Mary's purse without her being atall aware of the fact. Her hands were clasped in her muff, which, though unprofessional, the cold night necessitated her wearing. Shepaid her tram fare with some loose change which she had slipped intoher glove, and did not disturb the purse which she supposed to be lyingsnugly in an inside pocket. 

Meanwhile Dent, for it was he, overheard some scraps of conversationof highly interesting nature. 

Sister Mary Vallence had been at the bank that afternoon; she had beenfortunate in getting to the Bank of England just before the hour ofclosing, and she described the race she had had, in an amusing manner, to her companion. 

"Father would have been so put out if I had not brought him the money, "she said. "He wanted it very particularly, for my brother Henry sailsfor America to-morrow. "

"But are you not afraid of going down into these awful, awful slumswith so much money in your pocket?" queried her girl friend. 

"No, not really--no one would dream of supposing that I had close on26 pounds in my inner pocket. As to the notes I always make a rule oftaking the numbers. Well, good-night dear; I am glad I met you. By theway I saw that splendid-looking girl, Elizabeth Granger, again to-nightI wish I could show her to you, Agnes. You would never rest until youhad her for a model. Good-night, --I will get down here, conductor. "

Dent also soon after left the tramcar; he had secured a richer prizethan he had dared to hope for in any ordinary young lady's purse, andwent on his way considerably elated, --only what a stupid, silly, almostwicked trick that was of people to take the numbers of bank-notes!

Miss Vallence went home, and very soon afterwards discovered her loss. It so happened that she had never noticed the sailor who sat next her, and consequently had not the smallest clue as to the time or the placewhere the purse was stolen. She had, indeed, never opened it since shehad put the money given to her at the Bank of England into it, havingenough small change for her immediate needs in the bag which she usuallycarried about with her. The purse had been stolen; but how, when, andwhere, were mysteries which no one seemed able to clear up. 

The numbers of the missing notes were sent to the Bank, and a rewardoffered for the purse should anyone be honest enough to return it. Theaffair was also put into the hands of the police; but, as Sister Marycould give so little information, they told her that her chance ofrecovering the money was but slight. The only hope lay in thepresentation of the 5 pound notes at the Bank of England; but even ifthey could trace the thing through this means, he was not very likelyto change the notes at present. Sister Mary's brother had to go to seawithout the money which would have considerably added to his comfort, and a bad man plotted and schemed to do much mischief through hisill-gotten wealth. 

Bet was terribly startled when her father calmly and coolly proposedsuch a mate for her as Isaac Dent. During the first night she spentin Mother Bunch's attic, she lay awake and tossed wearily from sideto side, trying to forget the evil face of the man who would if hecould make her life, she knew, a hell on earth. She was glad of MotherBunch's protection, and wondered if it would be possible for her andthe boys to leave Liverpool altogether. But Bet, like most girls ofher class, had an intense and almost passionate regard for her nativeplace. The big town, with its wharves and quays and docks representedher world. She was at home in it; she knew both its byways and highways. To live away from the big ships and the rolling splendid river and thetaste of the sea which was wafted to her sometimes on the strong freshbreeze, would have been death in life to the Liverpool girl. No; shewould rather undergo any hardships in her native place than seek thetroubles she knew not of elsewhere. 

She reflected with satisfaction that her arm was strong as well asMother Bunch's--that in her own young strength she could defy mostdangers, and that these were not the times when girls could be forcedto marry against their will. 

Towards morning she fell into a heavy sleep, and awoke to find theboys both dressed after a fashion, and regarding her with round eyesof approval and satisfaction. 

"I won my bet, " shouted Thady, when his sister slowly opened her eyes. He began to turn somersaults in the wheel-like fashion which had drawnhim sundry halfpence in the streets. "I won my bet, " he repeatedgleefully. "You'll have to give me the spotted marble, Nat. "

Nat produced his treasure very unwillingly, and told Bet upbraidinglythat if she had slept one moment longer, so as to allow St. Jude'sclock to strike nine, he might have retained his treasure. 

"And you looked real beautiful with the fringes round your eyes asthick as thick, " continued Thady, in an affectionate tone. "I'd havelost my bet jest to look on yer, " he added. 

"You musn't make bets about things, boys, " admonished their sister. "Mother never held by betting, and you know, how I promised her thatI would bring you two up. Now we'll light the fire and have a bit ofbreakfast, and then I'll take you to church. All good people go tochurch, I've heerd say. "

"Oh, lor!" whispered Thady to Nat. "Arn't we going to turn out realpious!"

Nat was absorbed in the contemplation of his new boots, which he wasnow fastening on, and did not reply to his brother. Bet, however, shookher head; and the little captain, being oppressed by a sudden senseof perplexity over this new state of things, stood in a contemplativeattitude under the skylight, looking up at the glimpse of blue sky andwhistling. 

The day passed in a somewhat dreary fashion. Bet took her boys to thenearest place of worship she could find--pushing them, in theirdecidedly ragged apparel, inside the church door, but remaining in theporch herself. 

"You had better come in, " whispered the verger. 

"No, no; it's for them--get them the best places you can, " she saidin reply. 

And then she stood moodily just inside the porch, looking over thetown, and clasping her hands with an excess of excited feeling now andthen when the peal of the organ sounded on her ears. It was allbeautiful and warm within, but she was outside. Was she to be outsideeverything all her life?

It is a fact much to be regretted, but both the general and the captainbehaved so very badly inside the church, using their newly-shod feetwith such vigor in kicking the boys next them, rolling their tonguesinto their cheeks, distorting their features, and finally exchangingmarbles with their neighbors on each side of them, that the vergertook them out before the sermon was over, and told Bet that unless shechose to accompany her brothers to church and sit with them during theservice, they could not go at all. 

"It's no go, Bet, " said the captain; "we ain't the sort as you canmake good 'uns of. Me and the general don't mind saying our prayersto you, Bet, and not turning head-over-heels in the street, and notbetting of no bets, and we don't mind hiding if you tell us to hide, and we don't mind being locked up in the attic, 'cause it ain't 'ardto get on to the roof from the attic, and we can shy things at thecats from there:--but we can't set still in church--can we, General?No, never no more. "

The General most heartily reciprocated these sentiments, and Betperceived that it would not be wise to lay down the laws of supposedgoodness too strictly in the case of two such adventurous spirits asanimated the breasts of her small brothers. She took them for a walkin the afternoon, and it must be owned that the long day was drearyto all three, and that all felt oppressed with an unnatural sense ofrestraint. Nat, indeed, confided to his brother, as they lay side byside in bed that night, that he was afeard ef there was much more ofthat keeping in of a fellow he would have to go back to pie-crustpromises, and do again what was pleasing in his own eyes. 

Monday morning, however, restored a far less strained order of things. Bet was busy washing and mending, and doing all she could to put thisnew semblance of a home into order. The boys, delighted at not havingto go to school as usual, whistled and cheered, and helped her to thebest of their ability. In the afternoon she read them a very excitingstory of adventure, which she had picked up in a penny paper, and againthe little fellows assured her that there was no one in all the worldlike her, and that they would not hurt her, nor bring tears to hereyes, nor cause her heart to ache for all the world, --in short, thatthey would even be good for her sake. 

"I'll find another school for you, " said Bet, "what father won't knownothing of, and you shall go reg'lar from next Monday out. And nowgood-night, boys; I'll take the key of the door with me. See, I musthave a good sale of papers to-night; for arter I have bought my storeI'll only have tuppence left in my pocket. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Bet generally bought her papers at a tiny shop not far from her oldhome. She got them at wholesale price, and was well known to the womanwho kept the shop. This person regarded Bet as one of her most constantcustomers, and now and then added a paper or two of the half-pennyorder to her bundle for nothing, and by way of good luck. On this nightshe informed her young customer that she had no copies of the _EveningStar_ left. 

"There's a run on it, " she said. "There's news from the Soudan--something about General Gordon. Anyhow, it's sold out; so you hadbetter take some more of the _News_. "

Bet was vexed, for the _Evening Star_ was the most popular of allher papers. 

"I'm late to-night, and that's a fact, " she said. "But you might ha'kept some of them for me. "

"So I would, dear, but I thought you were leaving the newspaperbusiness. A girl came in and said so, and she bought up all that wereleft of the _Evening Star_. "

Bet was preparing to reply angrily to this when two or three ladiescame into the shop who had to be attended to. 

"I'd like to meet that girl, " she said to herself as she walked rapidlyto her destination. "What lies some folks do tell, to be sure!"

She was, as she said, late; and now as she walked along she opened herpapers and sorted them, hoping that she had not lost many customers, and resolving that in future Nat and Thady should not hinder her frombeing in good time at her post. She was somewhat breathless when shereached it, and as she stood in the full blaze of the gaslight in herfavorite position, her eyes were shining, and a rich color mantled inher cheeks. She looked positively lovely, and several people turnedand stared at her. Her face was of a refined and even noble cast; andthe incongruity of the uncovered head and the poor and tattered clothingonly made her beauty the more striking. "Ha, ha!" laughed a coarsevoice in her ear. 

She turned quickly, --the dark, rough-looking girl who had accosted heron Saturday night was also standing in the blaze of gaslight; she alsocarried papers in her hands, and Bet saw that she held uppermost agreat pile of the favorite _Evening Star_. 

"Ha, ha!" she said, beginning to dance round her companion--"handsomeBet Granger! Lovely Bet Granger! But rosy cheeks won't do it, nor eyesthat sparkle, nor lips that smile ever so sweet, when the beat's mine!mine! mine! Want an _Evening Star_, sir? Great news of Gordon inthe Soudan! Great news from the Soudan! Soudan! _Evening Star!_Latest particulars! Fifth edition! Only a halfpenny, sir! Want an_Evening Star_, sir?"

"I think this is the girl who always serves me, " said the gentlemannow addressed. 

He turned to Bet, and asked her for a copy of the paper. 

"I have only got the _Evening News, _" she replied, in a dull, lifelessvoice. 

"Then I will take that, " he said kindly. 

He paid Bet the halfpenny, and went into his club. 

"You had no right to do that, my pretty dear, " said the dark girl. "Ipaid fifteen shillin' for your beat only this morning. I said as Iwere willing to buy, and your father he come and axed me, and I givehim the money. What's the matter, Bet? You needn't look like that. Fair play's fair play, and the beat's mine now--I paid for it. Youain't of age, " she added with a taunting laugh, "and your father hada right to sell, and the beat's mine now. "

"Maybe you are telling me a lie, " said Bet, still in that queer dullvoice. "Some people don't mind telling lies, and you're one of them. I intend to go on selling papers here until you can prove as the beat'syourn. " "Bless your heart, I can do that now--here. I suppose you knowyour own father's writing? See, there's light enough under the gas foryou to read. There--see for yourself what he have said. "

The black-eyed girl held up a dirty piece of paper for Bet's inspection. Like a flash she took in the meaning of the few words scribbled on it. 

"This is to certify that I has sold the newspaper beat of my daughter, Elizabeth Granger, to Louisa Marks for the sum of fifteenshillings. --JAMES GRANGER. "

"It's all right, " said Louisa, as Bet handed her back the paper. "Youhaven't a word to say again it, have you?"

"No, " said Bet, raising her voice a very little--"not to you. I haven'ta word to say to you though you have stabbed me in the dark. I couldfight you, but I won't; for you're of the cowardly sort that thinknothing of lies, and creeping into a thing by the back door. You ain'tworth fighting. I wouldn't have it said I touched your sort. Keep thebeat that wasn't my father's to sell, nor yours to buy. Keep it; makewhat you can of it. Good-night. "

The sparkle had not left her eyes, and the flush of exercise had givenplace to the flush of burning rage on her cheeks. She felt that shecould have done that dark, malicious, talking girl an injury--only shewasn't worth it; she would pour the full vials of her wrath on otherheads. 

She walked away rapidly, not caring in the least where she wandered. At that moment it was nothing at all to her that she was ruined--thather means of livelihood had been snatched from her--that she had abundle of unsold papers under her arm, and only twopence in herpocket, --that two little boys would be hungry to-morrow for the breadwhich she could not give them. All the pain of these things would comelater to her; but just now she only felt her swelling, raging anger, and her burning thirst to revenge herself on the cruel man who calledhimself her father. 

As a matter of course, she wandered into the slums and low places ofthe town--she eschewed the lighted thoroughfares, and walked alongthe darker streets. Her beauty was so remarkable to-night, that evenhere she was observed and commented upon; and with an instinctive, almost unconscious movement--for her passion absorbed her so much thatshe did not see the gaze of the passers-by--she raised her mother'sworn, many-colored plaid shawl over her head, and partly hid herflushed, dazzling face in its folds. 

Suddenly, in the midst of her rapid, headlong walk, she drew up short, pressing her hand to her heart, her lips parted, her eyes distendedto their widest. She was listening to a sound, and that sound wassaving her. The full, rich, delicious notes of a woman's voice werefloating out through one of the dark courts to Bet's ears--the noteswarbled like a bird's, they rose and fell like the clear cool soundof a fountain. Bet's great eyes grew soft--she knew the voice, and themusic drew her as certainly as a troubled child will fly to its mother. She went straight into the court, and joined the group of listenerswho were hanging on to Hester Wright's melodious utterances. 

This special court was not lit by any gaslight, but a man had broughta rude, ill-contrived lantern, and by its dim, flickering rays theslight form and thin earnest face of the singer could be fitfully seen. A great crowd had gathered round her, but she herself was raised abovethe people by standing on a chair which one of the neighbors hadfetched. By her side stood Will Scarlett. He joined her in the choruses, his voice answering note by note to hers; his face, too, was seen inthe dim light, and Bet gave a start when she recognized it, and creptherself a little farther into the shade. 

The wretched little court was almost full of people, fresh numberscoming in, moment by moment, as the beauty of the voice attracted them. These people belonged to the lowest refuse of Liverpool life; but theywere all quiet, subdued, orderly--tamed, in short, for the time, bythe magical gift which Hester possessed. 

As a rule she chose grave music--it suited the depth and quality ofher voice; but very rarely would she favor her audience with rollickingsea-songs, or anything with a comic element. Her taste, as regardedmusic, was absolutely pure and good, and she had a wonderful facultyfor picking up both words and music of the nobler sort. 

When Bet entered the court Hester and Will were singing "KathleenMavourneen. " The fine range of Hester's voice enabled her to do thissomewhat difficult melody full justice. Will helped her with a noteor two now and then, for his own taste in music was nearly as good ashers, and he knew exactly when and how to aid without spoiling theeffect. As each song was finished the people cheered, but not noisily;the cry was generally, "Give us more--give us another, Hester Wright!"

"Yes, I will give you another, " said Hester, when "Kathleen Mavourneen"had come to an end. "I will give you something very beautiful now. Idon't think you know it--it will touch you. "

Her voice rose again into the air--

 "I had a message to send her, To her whom my soul loved best; But I had my task to finish, And she had gone home to rest. "

All through the difficult evolutions of the melody Hester's voice roseand fell; she rendered no note of the music wrong; her unerring instinctand her real genius carrying her through the most complicated andpathetic music she had ever attempted. The breathless silence grewdenser, the people pressed closer, and Bet, forgetting everything inthe ecstasy of listening, found herself almost pushed to the front:--

 "And at last I know that my message Has passed through the golden gate, And my heart is no longer restless, And I am content to wait. "

"That is beautiful, " said the singer. "Yes, those words stir my heart--there's nought like music--no, there's nought like music in all theworld. Now, I'll give you one more good thing--perhaps a better thingthan that--afore I go home. I heard it sung to the organ, and it comefrom the inside of a church. I don't hold by no church, but this thinghas fastened on my heart, and I'll give it to you, neighbors. "

Hester stooped down and said a word or two to Will Scarlett. 

"Help me with the words, cousin--sing 'em out full, and as if somehowyou held on to them. "

Will nodded, and the two voices, in perfect harmony, once more filledthe court. 

_"Oh, rest in the Lord. Wait patiently--patiently-for Him; and Heshall give thee thy heart's--thy heart's desire. "_

As the last notes fell upon the listening people they might havenoticed, had they not been so absorbed in watching Hester, that theman's deep voice shook and swayed a little. The fact was this: theflickering rays of the lantern had shown him the ruddy glow of a certainstately head, and for an instant a face shone out, and was lost againin the thick darkness. When the last notes died away Bet turned, and, pressing through the crowd, left the court; but the unerring instinctof love made Will Scarlett hear her departing footsteps over and aboveall the others. He said two hasty words to Hester, and followed her. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

"Bet, " said Will, when they got outside; "Bet, I'm here. What is it?You're in trouble. I can tell by the way you turn your head away asyou're in sore trouble. Why, there--you're sobbing. Don't, don't. Ithurts me sore to see you thus. "

"It were the music, " said Bet. "Hester allays moves me, and there werewords as brought mother back. I didn't hold to mother so much when shewere living--I weren't never too good to her; but now it seem to meas if I fair hungered for her, and I'd like well to send her amessage--many messages. Then, there were them last words. Why, Will, any one 'ud suppose that Hester were of mother's thinking. I nevercould have guessed it. "

"Maybe she is, and maybe she isn't" said Will. "Seems to me the wordsis true, whoever holds on to 'em. "

They were walking rapidly, and now Bet felt a sweet and yet roughbreeze on her cheeks. They were down by the Mersey, and the salt tastefrom the sea was blown into her hot eyes and burning cheeks. 

"That's good, " she said, flinging back her shawl, and sighing, as ifa great burden had been lifted from her. The moon was up, and its whitelight lay on the rippling water, and just touched the outline of Bet'sface. 

"That's good, " she repeated, as she took another draught of the sweet, pure, invigorating air. She had again that pre-occupied look whichseemed only half-conscious of her companion. 

"Let's walk along by the quays, " said Will. "Higher up it will blowreal fresh; this is nought--only the shadow of the sort of thing thatcomes to you when you are fairly out on the waves. "

"Will, " said Bet, suddenly, as she turned and looked full at him, "Iwere fair wrapt up in myself, and it never come to me till this minuteto ask how you are here. Why, it's nigh upon a week since you were tohave been away in that ship that carried Hope at its bows, you mind. "

"That's true, " said Will, rather shortly. "But I had a wish to stayon shore a bit longer, so I sold my berth to Isaac Dent. He says heknows you, Bet--but he oughtn't to--he ain't fit for you to speak to. "

"He's one of father's mates, " said Bet. "And he's not at sea, Will;he's on shore. Father wanted me to come home on Saturday night lastto see him, and to--to--oh, don't ask me--what father says has burntinto my heart, I'm wild to-night, Will. I'm wild, and tossed withmisery, and that's the truth. Let me go home, Will Scarlett--that is, to what home I have. Don't, don't be clutching hold of my hand. I ain'tfit to talk to a good lad like you to-night"

"Yes, you are, Bet, " said Will. "You're more fit to talk to me thanto any other lad--or lass, for that matter--in the whole o' Liverpool;for I'm your true love, Bet, and you are mine. There--you can't go forto deny it. "

Will's figure no longer looked so slight and boyish; he held himselfup very erect, and the breeze tossed back his thick dark curly hair, and the moonlight shone into his honest blue eyes, as they lookedstraight at the trembling, troubled, excited girl. 

"You know as I'm your true love; and I'll wed you, come what may, "said Will Scarlett. "There--I stayed away from the bonny waves onpurpose. Look at me, Bet, I'm the lad as has given his whole heart toyou. "

"I'm in sore trouble, " sobbed Bet. "Will, Will, don't tempt me. I'min the sorest trouble, and I'm being treated bitter cruel, and you--Iknow as you're honest--and I know as you--you could love a girl, andshe might--might lean on you, Will. But don't tempt me, for I oughtn'tto listen to such words as you ha' spoke. For I ha' made a promise asI'll never be wife to no man. "

"You made a bad promise, then, " said Will. "Who did you make it to?Ef it were to yourself, I don't see as you need hold to it, ef yourmind's changed. And ef you made it to God, somehow I don't think Heliked it, nor thought it a good word to pass your lips--for He havemade you and me for each other, Bet; and I fancy as it don't pleaseHim to have the plans as He has made crossed by the weak promise ofa girl. You had better unmake that vow of yours, Bet; for it don'thold water nohow. "

Will had now put his arm round Bet's waist, and his eager masterfulface was close to hers. She felt a new timidity, and a new trembling, wonderful joy stealing over her, and chasing away the dark cloud ofher grief. 

"I never thought as we was made for one another, " she said, in a timidundertone. 

"Then you knowed very little, Bet, ef you didn't find that out. Awayon the sea, haven't I dreamt of you, and seen your face near mine, when the waves was rough, and we thought we'd be in Davy Jones' lockerby the morning? And sometimes, Bet, when I'd be tempted to do as otherfellows, and take to bad ways, your face 'ud come before me, and somehowI couldn't. I always knew when I was out on the waves that you was tobe my lawful wedded wife one day. You can't go agin a thing like that, my dear. Why, when you come to think of it, it seems downright wrongeven to name a promise you made only to yourself when you knowed nobetter. "

"But Will--Will--mother was wed, and she suffered--oh, she did sufferbitter--and it were then I vowed as no man should call me mate. "

Will's face grew dark. 

"And you was right, " he said. "You was mor'n right--when you thoughtof sich as your father, and sich as Dent. Why, Bet, sich fellers asthem ain't men at all--they ain't worthy of the name. I don't wantto say much, Bet; but I ain't of their sort--I could be tender to you, my dear, and true, true as steel; and your father couldn't touch youwhen you was my lawful wife, darling. And you should have the littlelads, and keep the promises you made to your mother. See, Bet, themoon's shining on us, and there's a beautiful salt taste of the seaon our lips, and there's all the love that I can give you shining outof my eyes this yer minute. You make me a promise, Bet, dear--one thatwill undo that base one you once vowed to yourself. Forget thatpromise--what were cruel and wicked, and a shame, when it came atweenyou and me. Here, make another now, Bet--one of your own as never gotbroke. "

"What shall I say, Will? I'm troubled sore, and yet I'm comfortedbeyond words to say; and you ha' done it! Will, dear Will. What promiseshall I make as'll be true and binding on me forever?"

"Say this, Bet: 'I give myself to you, Will Scarlett, and I'll be yourwedded wife as soon as ever parson can be found to tie us together. So help me, God Almighty. '"

Bet said the words without faltering, and as she did so a curious andwonderful thing happened to her--when she found her love, and believedin him, and gave herself up to him utterly, she also ceased to doubtthat there was a God. He was there--He was good; He was blessing her. She had only twopence in her pocket, and her worldly career seemed ashort hour ago utterly destroyed and done for; but now no girl inLiverpool could feel richer than she did. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

With people in Bet Granger's class the time between the wooing and thewedding is seldom long. Will would not go to sea until Bet was hiswife, and so it was decided by the two that they would go to churchas soon as ever the parson could be found who would be willing, asthey expressed it, to tie the knot between them. Certain preliminarieshad to be gone through, of which they were profoundly ignorant; andWill discovered, when he made inquiries, that a short delay was, afterall, inevitable. 

In some way, girls in Bet's class look upon marriage more solemnlythan those who are born in higher grades. To them the marriage itselfis all in all, --they have neither time nor money to give to dress andpresents, and wedding paraphernalia. Bet would go to Will Scarlett inher poor, neatly-mended gown and when she gave herself to him shewould bring him nothing else, -no outward adornings, no householdfurniture--nothing but just her steadfast spirit, her heart filled tooverflowing with the greatest love she had ever known, and her greatbeauty. Will and Bet would have to live from hand to mouth, and wouldbe still quite regarded as the poorest of the people; but love on suchan occasion as this is very apt to laugh at poverty, and these twoduring the few days that followed were perhaps the happiest pair inthe great city. 

As was to be expected, Bet had confided to Will and to Hester the wholestory of Dent's proposal, and of her father having sold away her beat, and so deprived her of the means of earning bread for herself and herlittle brothers. Will and Hester between them had provided her witha little money for present necessaries, and Will told her that on theday they were married he meant to buy another newspaper beat for her. 

"When I'm at sea you must be earning something, Bet, " he said; "andthough every girl can't hold her own and be good and respectable asyou are, yet there ain't no fear for one like you, and you may as wellgo on selling newspapers to the gentlemen, and show them what aLiverpool lass can be when she likes. "

"But the best beat is gone, " said Bet, mournfully--"there ain't anotherto be had for love or money like that what mother bought for me roundby the clubs. "

Will's disposition was very sanguine. 

"We'll find a beat nearly as good, " he said in a confident voice. "There's a great club being built at the far end of Castle Street, andthere'll be a lot of gas and light about, and the gentlemen will wanttheir papers. I can buy a boat for you there for ten shillings, Bet, and you can earn a tidy penny. What with that, and what I can send youfrom sea, you and the lads won't fare so bad. "

Bet smiled at these words, and was somewhat comforted--she had no ideaof being a burden on the man who was to be her mate, and in particularwas determined to support Nat and Thady entirely by her own exertions. 

After a great deal of consultation, it was decided that during Will'sfirst voyage after their wedding Bet was to remain in Paradise Rowwith Mother Bunch. This worthy Irishwoman took an enormous fancy toWill, clapping him on the back, cheering him on with his wooing, andassuring him that that "purty darling blossom of a wife of his" shouldbe her first care, day and night, all the time the waves were washingunder him; "and not a hair of her head should be hurt, " said MotherBunch--"and them mischeevous little varmints of hers shall come to noharm, naythur, --oh, will ye then, ye rogues! Why then 'tis you thatbates the heart out of Molly O'Flaherty entirely. "

With that she gave chase to the captain and general, who were dodginground the corner, and making anything but polite faces at her. 

It is a very trite proverb, and a sadly worn truth, exemplified overand over again at all times and seasons, and in all places of theearth, that the course of true love never ran smooth; and alas!notwithstanding all the pleasant preparations being made for them, these two poor lovers were no exception to the rule. 

Bet and Will both had enemies, and these enemies were neither inactivenor inclined to forbear from mischief. 

On the very day after her engagement Bet came across her father--shecame upon him suddenly, and as if by accident; but in truth he hadbeen looking out for her, as he was intensely curious to know how thestarving process suggested by Dent was answering, and how soon, inconsequence, he might hope to receive Dent's promised gold. No oneknew better than Granger the depressing effects of starvation; he hadgone through them himself, and was therefore an excellent judge. Heexpected to see Bet with her hair untidy, her eyes red and dull, andher face heavy, --he expected to be greeted with a torrent of witheringanger and sarcasm, or to be assailed by a burst of violent woman'stears and reproaches. Instead of this state of things he saw comingto meet him a trim lass, dressed with remarkable neatness--her hairin a great shining coronet on her head, her eyes bright and yet soft, and a happy smile playing about her lips. Her face changed when shesaw him, but it did not get angry, only a little pale, and the eyestook an expression of sadness. 

"It weren't worth your while father?' she said. It were a mean, meantrick to play. It were a stab in the dark, father, and it took mybreath away for a time, and I were mad with ye. Yes, Father--I was'most quite mad in earnest; and ef I had met you last night, maybe I'dha' done you an injury. I can't rightly say, only that I know that mybrain was going round, and I was fairly choking with rage--it was asif you had put a devil into me, father. "

"That's a nice way to speak to your own father, what give you yourbeing, " said Granger, in a puzzled, would-be indignant voice, for hecould not understand Bet's speaking of all her trouble and rage in thepast tense. "What's come to you, lass?" he continued. You was in arage--ain't you in a rage still?--the beat's gone for aye and aye, youknows. "

"No, I ain't in a rage now, " said Bet. "It's over--seems as if therewas a spring day in my heart, and I ha' no room to be in a rage. Youmeant it for bitter bad, father, but maybe 'twas God. I do think asit must have been Him--He meant it all contrariwise, and just becauseyou sold my beat, as I were burning and mad with rage--I--I--nevermind that part--only I'm the happiest lass in the whole of Liverpoolto-day. "

"You air, " said Granger with a great oath. "It's like your impidenceto defy me more and more. What do you mean by words such as them, youbad disobedient girl? Don't you know as there's a curse on them asdon't obey their parents?"

"No, father; there's no curse on a girl who won't go your way; andthough it ain't nothing to you, and I ain't nothing to you, yet I mayas well tell you that I give myself to Will Scarlett last night, andI'm going to be his lawful wedded wife as soon as ever the law can tieus up. "

With that Bet turned on her heel, and walked rapidly away. She hadsaid her say, and did not want to listen to any of Granger's ill-timedcomments. 

Her quick steps soon took her out of the man's sight; he ground histeeth, and, choking with rage, went to find Dent. 

"I could prevent it, " he said, as he concluded his story. "The gel'snot of age, so I could put my spoke in, and make it rare and troublesomefor her. I will, too, ef you'll only put me up to the straight tip, Dent. "

To Granger's surprise, Dent took all this information with wonderfulequanimity. 

"I wouldn't try that on, " he said. "Scarlett's of age, if the gelain't, and you'd have to make a deal of statements, and maybe more 'udcome out than you'd like, and you mightn't gain your point in the end, for there's lots of ways of being married, and once the knot was tiedyou couldn't do nothing. "

"You takes it mighty cool for one who wants the gel yourself, " saidGranger, who felt ready to dance with vexation. 

"Bless yer 'art, " said Dent, "you don't suppose as I mean to give herup? Not a bit of it. You keep yourself cool, old man; we'll divide themoney, and I'll have my pretty bride yet. Why, Granger, you can neversee beyond the stone wall you're gazing at; you haven't, so to speak, no perception at all. Now this don't surprise me, and I'll tell youwhy. I knew that Will wanted the gel--ay, and haven't I played hima trick on that very account?--and anyone could see with half an eyethat she wanted him; and what more like than that they should make itup atween them. Yes, but wooing ain't wedding, and there's many aslip--oh, yes, many and many. Don't you fret, Granger--didn't I tellyou as I had checkmated that low fellow, Scarlett? You won't never bedemeaned by that marriage, my man. "

With these words Dent left his companion; he had managed to comforthim a good deal, and he was certainly by no means depressed himself. 

"Nothing could please me better, " he muttered. "The thing's moving atlast. Yes, my pretty Bet--you'll know what to think of that fine loverof yourn by-and-bye; you'll say to yourself then that there are worsemen in the world than honest Isaac Dent. "

Here Dent laughed immoderately--the idea of taking up the _role_of an honest man seemed to tickle his humor to a remarkable extent. 

"I mustn't leave a stone unturned, all the same, " he continued; andafter meditating deeply for a moment he strode rapidly away in thedirection of the Eastern Docks. Here he entered a small shop, whoseowner specially laid himself out to supply all kinds of heterogeneousthings to sailors. There was scarcely anything that a sailor couldpossibly require which Higgins, the owner of this small shop, couldnot furnish him with. From wedding-rings to second-hand slop clotheshe was up to all emergencies. There was no other shop exactly likeHiggins' near this particular part of the docks; and because he wasobliging in the matter of credit, and had a very jovial, free-and-easymanner, he was immensely popular with all the sailors who came thatway, and in consequence did a roaring trade. Dent knew Higgins well, and was perfectly aware that his virtue was not above contamination. Higgins had, in short, such a keen eye for profit that he thought verylittle of stepping over the boundary line of strict honesty to obtainit. When Dent entered the shop it was, as usual, full of customers, but presently these cleared off, and Dent and the owner could indulgein a little confidential talk. They spoke in low tones, and Higgins'assistant, strain his ears as he might, could not overhear a word oftheir conversation. Several customers came in from time to time andinterrupted them; nevertheless, when Dent went away he felt abundantlysatisfied that he was laying his little trap with consummate care. DidHiggins know a sailor of the name of Scarlett? Of course--did a lotof business with him; as honest a fellow as ever breathed. Honest--oh!Dent raised his eyebrows, and contrived by various innuendoes to conveya contrary impression to the astute Higgins. They talked a littlelonger. Suddenly Dent became intensely confidential. 

"Look here, Higgins, " he said, "a word to the wise is enough"--herehe pressed that worthy's palm with the hard, delicious pressure whichan accompanying crown-piece can bestow--"look here, Higgins, if Scarlettbrings you any Bank of England notes to change, be sure you get himto put his full name and address on them. " Emphatic head-shakes, profound winks, unutterable contortions, accompanied this piece ofsound advice; and Dent left the shop, having conveyed the impressionwhich he meant to convey--that Scarlett had stolen some Bank of Englandnotes, and that Dent for a private motive of his own, which it did notbehove Higgins to inquire into, wanted to get him into trouble aboutthem. 

CHAPTER XV. 

Will Scarlett's wedding-day had very nearly come. This was Tuesday, and on the following Thursday he and Bet were to go to church together, and to be made man and wife. On the following Monday honest Will wasto sail away on a long cruise to China, and his young wife mightpossibly not see him again for a couple of years. 

Never mind that; they were both young and buoyant with hope just now--in short, Will felt his love so strong that he was sure it could bridgethe whole distance from China to that dread attic in Paradise Row, andsurround Bet's heart and life with a halo which would make all thingsendurable to her; and Bet's love was also so strong--for it was a wayof hers when she gave her heart to give it absolutely--that she toowas certain that the golden chain of affection would reach from ParadiseRow to China, and that, though outwardly divided, she and her bravesailor-mate would in reality still be together. 

"You look out for the moon, Bet, " Will had said to her. "The bonnymoon will be shining on you and on me jest at the same minute; and thestars too, for that matter. Why, when one comes to think of it, we'llhave a crowd of things in common still, sweetheart, although we hasgot to say good bye for a time. "

In short, these young folks were in paradise just now. They were aspoor as poor could be, and not an individual who heard of theirrelations to each other would have envied them; but love, which veryoften fails to appear on the threshold of what the world considers agreat match, was shedding quite a golden glory over these two at thepresent moment. In reality, therefore, Will and Bet were not poor. 

They were to part on Monday, but between that parting and the presentmoment would come the short church ceremony, and the little honeymoon, which they had arranged to spend at Birkenhead. Mother Bunch was totake care of the boys during Bet's absence, and the girl's own smallpreparations were nearly made. 

On Tuesday she sat down in her attic and thought how a few short dayshad worked a complete revolution in her life. She was excited andhopeful and happy, and nothing was further from her mind at that momentthan a certain dreadful old proverb which declares that there is manya slip betwixt the cup and the lip. The boys were playing in the backcourt behind the house, and Bet, having tidied up her very humbleapartment, until, literally, there was not a pin in the wrong place, had risen to go downstairs, when she heard a lumbering, rolling, andvery heavy step ascending. There was no mistaking who was coming topay her a visit--no one but Mother Bunch could so bang herself againstthe sides of the slimy wails, or cause the frail balustrade to creakand groan, as she lurched in turn against it; no one but Mother Bunchcould so puff and pant and groan, and finally launch herself into Bet'sattic like a dead weight, and sit down on the pallet bed, spreadingout her broad hands on her knees, and puffing more than ever. 

"Oh, glory! them stairs'll be the death of me. Give me a drop of water, for the love of heaven, Bet, my dear. Oh, then, 'tis me as is the goodfrind to you; but 'tis black mischief as they're brewing agin' you, honey, and no mistake. "

Here Mother Bunch recovered her breath, and Having taken a sip or twoof the water which Bet gave her in a cracked teacup, began to pour outher tale. 

"Come close to me, honey, " she said, "for it's thrue as walls has ears, and when them as means mischief is abroad you're never safe, come whatmay. But we'll spite them, see if we don't--we'll be even with them--youand me, and the sailor boy. Oh, ochone, ochone!--but it's, a blackworld entirely!"

"What have you heard, Mrs. O'Flaherty?" asked Bet. She was tremblingnow, for Mother Bunch's evident perturbation had infected her. "Tellme the whole story, Mrs. O'Flaherty--you bring my heart into my mouthwhen you look at me like that, and don't tell me what the real matteris. "

"Treachery's the matter, darlint--and a mane, cowardly trick to ruinan honest man, and to give the handsomest girl in Liverpool to avillain. Oh, no--I don't know none too much, only a word dropped hereand a word there--and Mother Bunch being what we call in ould Irelandmighty cute, and able to put two and two together. There's a trick toprevent you and Will being wed, Bet; and it's atween your father andthat low sailor feller he was talking to--and I heard it in the 'Starand Garter' whin I went there for sixpennu'th of beer just now. Theynever set eyes on me, becase I'm frinds with the man at the bar, yeknows, and I just dropped down on a bit of a three-legged stool nearhim, and wan't seen at all, at all. Thin I heard them a contriving andmaking up their bits of plans, and something was to happen on Thursdayas 'ud take our breath away, and the sailor would have his own way;and Will-oh, I couldn't catch what was to be done with Will; but forcertain sure he wasn't to be no mate of yourn; and-and-the long andshort of it is, honey, that there's black treachery to the fore. "

"Let me go, " said Bet. 

She had been kneeling by Mother Bunch, and drinking in every word. Nowshe stood up, and taking her mother's plaid shawl, wrapped it roundher head and shoulders. 

"I'm going out, " she said; "see to the boys, Mrs. O'Flaherty. I'll beback, maybe, by-and-bye. Maybe I won't. "

"I thought you'd take things in the right spirit, dear, " respondedMother Bunch, who showed no particular curiosity to learn Bet's presentpurpose. 

Having delivered her soul, she felt no further anxiety with regard tothe matter. Bet was a strong lass, who, when apprised of her danger, could fight her own battles. With the remark that "she would see tothe little varmints, " and not expect Bet back until she chose to come, she rolled herself downstairs; and Bet followed her quickly, and soonreached the street. 

She walked fast; her heart was beating, and her head was in a whirl. All her latent fear and distrust of her father had risen in full force. As to Dent-for, of course, the sailor was Dent-she regarded him witha kind of sick horror. Could she outwit these two who were plottingagainst her and her lover?-was there time?

She made straight for the place where she thought it most likely sheshould find Will. He generally spent his evenings with Hester Wright. When she reached the lodgings a neighbor told her that Hester was out;but as she was about to descend the stairs, with a sickening feelingat her heart, Will's whistle, as he bounded up three steps at a time, fell like the most joyful music on her ears. She sprang to him andclasped her arms around his neck. 

"Will-dear Will-I ha' come-we must be wed to-night, Will. "

She was panting and trembling, and her words were only coherent byreason of the great stress and force with which she emphasized them. Will wondered if she had taken leave of her senses. 

"Come into Hester's room, Bet, " he said, tenderly. "Here, set down, darling; why, how terrible you do tremble!"

"Oh, Will, I'm mortal frightened. There's more bad than good in thisyer world; and the bad's agin' us-and bad things and bad people havesuch a power of strength in them, Will-and they'll part us if we don'toutwit them. Oh, Will, let us be made man and wife this blessed night. "

"But we can't, Bet. I'd like to--it could never be a minute too soonfor me--but the license ain't due to me afore to-morrow, and Thursdayis fixed up at St. Giles' Church for the parson to wed us. Thursdayis not so _very_ far off, sweetheart. Why, I expect it seems longer tome than to you, Bet, for I ha' loved you, as Jacob did Rachel, for many a long year. What's two days when you ha' waited years?"concluded Will, and he put his arm round Bet and tried to get her torest her head on his shoulder. 

She almost pushed his strong arm away. 

"You don't understand, " she said. "It's to-night or it's never--it'syou and me to go away to-night in the darkness, and hide ourselves fora bit, and let the wicked do their worst--or it's you and me to beparted, Will, and me to be hungering for you, and you for me--allaysand allays. "

Here Bet related what Mother Bunch had told her--that there was a plotbrewing, and how her father and Isaac Dent meant to ruin her and Will. She told her story with great excitement and emphasis--her eyesflashing, and the color coming and going in her cheeks. To her it wasa terrible story, replete with all possibilities of parting anddisaster. The terror of it had taken hold of her, and her teeth almostchattered as she gave emphasis to her words. 

To her dismay, however, she saw that the tale itself made littleimpression on Will. He was much distressed at Bet's agitation, and didall in his power to soothe her; but he could not get himself to believethat Granger or Dent could possibly injure either of them. He had allan honest young fellow's sovereign contempt for these worthies, andhe even gently laughed when Bet repeated her assurance that the deepplot they were hatching between them would succeed, and part her andWill forever. 

"I ain't afeard, " said Will, stoutly. "I don't believe in there beingany plot, Bet. Mother Bunch has just had a bit of a dhrame, as shecalls it, and she didn't hear half she thinks she heard. As to Grangerand Dent, I know they don't love me, and they might do me a nasty turn, if they knew how. But then, they don't know how, Bet, darling; and Iain't going to hide and creep away in the darkness, not for no man. You're shook with trouble, poor Bet; but there ain't no fear--not theleast in life; and we'll be wed on Thursday, sweetheart, and have agood time afterwards. "

"Oh, Will, Will!" said Bet. Her lover's want of belief in her storyseemed to her the crowning drop. She clasped her hands, and suddenlywent down on her knees to him. 

"Let us be wed to-night, Will!" she asked--"to save me from Isaac Dent, Will! Make me your true wife to-night, whether you believe the storyor not!"

Here she cried and wept, and wrung her hands. 

Will was dreadfully perturbed-he did not believe in any danger forhimself, but he was distressed for Bet. He raised her gently from thefloor. 

"You know as I'd take you to my arms this minute, darling, ef it couldbe done, " he said. "But it seems to me they hedge round a wedding witha sight of difficulties, and you must either eat your heart out waitingtill the banns is called, or have a license. My license is dueto-morrow, but not afore. "

The idea, however, of the license was very dim to Bet. 

"I thought the parson would say some words, and we might be man andwife, " she said. "You could send him the license, whatever that means, by-and-bye, Will-but I'm _sure_ the parson would say the goodwords over us to-night, and then we might go away together. There'sa deal of things can be done, if one but tried; and you and me needn'thave our hearts broke because we must wait for daylight to get thatbit of paper. Oh, Will, let's go together and find the parson. DearWill, darling, let's go at once!-let's ax him, leastways-and if hesays nay, we'll abide by it. Let's go, Will, now, this very minute. Let's find the parson, and abide by his nay or his yea!"

Will, bewildered, agitated by Bet's suffering and despair, yielded asomewhat unwilling assent. 

"But I must go to my lodgings first, " he said. "For I ha' got somemoney to change. Ef the parson can be found, and ef he'll wait for hislicense until to-morrow, and say the good words over us to-night, Bet, why, we can cross to Birkenhead by the last boat this evening. But I'd a sight rather wait till Thursday, " he added under his breath;"for it seems like running away when there's nought to run from. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

Will's objection to so sudden a marriage was overruled by Bet's fervorand impetuosity; she would not listen to his objections, but everytime he opened his lips shut him up with the emphatic remark, "It'snow or never, sweetheart; ef it ain't to-night, something tells me asI'll never be wed to you. "

She accompanied Will to the door of his lodgings, and paced up anddown the narrow little street, chafing and trembling with impatience, while he ran upstairs to fetch the bank-notes which he had not yetchanged. He came down in a few minutes, having donned his best jack-tarsuit, and holding out a pretty sealskin purse to Bet. 

"Just you see here, " he said--"I found this in my room; I can't makeout how it came there. Ain't it fine? Look--ain't it wonderful howanything can be turned out so neat? "and he opened the purse, andshowed the bright red leather lining; then clasped it again, and strokedthe soft seal covering. 

"I'd like to give it to you, Bet, " he said, "ef I knew how I come byit. It were lying on the floor, and the clasps shone when I held upthe candle. I must ask Mrs. Jobling, my landlady, if she knows who itbelongs to. It ain't likely as she'd own such a bonny bit o' a thing;"he fingered the purse admiringly, and then thrust it into one of hisdeep pockets. 

"I'll give it to you if I can't find the owner, Bet, " he said inconclusion. "I don't suppose you ever had anything so bonny. "

Bet, however, was far too impatient and excited to be interested inthe most beautiful purse that was ever made. 

"Let it be now, Will, " she said. "Most like it belongs to Mrs. Jobling--don't let's think of it now. Have you got the money in yourpocket, Will, dear? And shall we go at once and find the parson?"

A flush came up into Will's bronzed cheeks. 

"None so fast, sweetheart, " he said. "What would you say to us goingto be married and having never a ring to put on that finger o' yourn?I han't bought the ring yet--the wedding-ring, darling; but I ha' gotmoney to buy it--ten pound; it does seem a sight of riches. Let's godown to Higgins' and change the notes, Bet. We can get the ring there. "Bet did not object--she turned at once in the right direction, walkingso fast that Will began to chaff her. 

"You take my breath away, " he said. "You forget that I've got sea-legs, and ain't a match for the land folks when they go at that pace. "

"Oh, Will--if you could be in earnest!" said poor Bet. "I'm hurrying'cause it's life or death to me. It gets late, and parson may beout--oh! a hundred things may happen--oh, if my heart didn't beat sohard!"

"Well, here we are, dear, " said Will, and the two turned into the smallclose marine store presided over by Higgins. 

That worthy came forward himself to meet the handsome couple who nowstood at the other side of his grimy counter. 

"Evenin', " he said. "What may I serve you with? Why, if it ain'tScarlett! I didn't know you at first, lad, and that's a fact. Eveningyoung woman! Courting, eh?" he whispered in an aside to Scarlett. 

"Oh, that's about done, " said Will. "It's marrying we're after--couldyou fit this here young woman with a ring?" he added, and he took Bet'shand in his. 

A tray of wedding rings was placed on the counter--they were allsecond-hand, and some of them much the worse for wear. 

Will made his selection, choosing a fairly solid gold band. He slippedthe ring into his pocket, smiled into Bet's anxious eyes, and takingout his bank-notes, spread them on the counter. 

"You'll oblige me with change for these, Mr. Higgins?" he said. "See, it's a nice tidy little lot of money, ain't it? But it comes in handy;for a feller ain't wed every day of the week. "

"It air a lot of money, " said Higgins, in a contemplative tone. Hetook up the notes, and fingered them, feeling their texture and lookingat the backs. "It _air_ a tidy lot of money, " he repeated, and he lookedkeenly into Will's honest face. 

For all his bronzing the color would easily mount into this youngsailor's cheeks-it did so now, and he spoke with a little offence. 

"You're wondering how so much comes to the like of me, " he said. "Well, it's easily answered. I sold my berth in the 'Good Queen Anne'-aboutthe neatest boat in the docks, and the jolliest berth a feller everhad the luck to find-for this yer money. It comes in handy now as I'mabout to be wed. But don't change it if you have no mind to, Mr. Tiggins. I can pass it in at the bank to-morrow morning. "

At these words Bet turned deadly pale and gripped her companion's arm. 

"No, " she whispered hoarsely: "we must have the change to-night. "

Higgins, who had been watching the pair, now spoke in that oily andseductive tone which had brought many excellent customers to his door. 

"What do you take me for, Scarlett?" he said. "Ain't you, so to speak, an old friend, and one of the best customers as this yer house canwish to see? Of course I'll change the notes, man, and good luck toyou and your lass there. Yes--of course I'll change the notes; butseeing as I'm poor, and the times is 'ard, you won't object to theusual percentage for obleeging a neighbor?"

"And what's that?" said Will. "I'm in a hurry, " he added; "so I'lllisten to anything in reason. "

"I charge interest a shilling in the pound, " said Higgins. "That'llbe ten shillings on the two notes, and the ring seven-and-six--seventeen-and-six in total; that leaves nine pounds two-and-six-pence change--and here you air. Only, " here Higgins producedpen and ink, "you'll obleege _me_ by writing your name and whereyou lodges on the back of the notes. "

"What's that for?" said Will, drawing back a step or two. 

"Nothing, ef you don't want to do it, " responded Higgins; "only I can'tnohow change the notes without--it's a precaution I allus uses withregard to bank-notes, which sailors don't have every day in theirpockets. No address, no change--you can please yourself. "

"Oh, Will, do write, " whispered Bet; and so urged, Will did dip hispen in the ink, and scrawled his name in a somewhat uncertaincalligraphy on the back of each note. Mrs. Jobling's address was furtheradded. He then received his change, and he and Bet hurried out of theshop. 

"Sold!" whispered Higgins to himself; and an ugly grin appeared uponhis face. "Now to send these notes up to the bank the first thingto-morrow, --and--and--well, I have no love for Isaac Dent, andScarlett's the sort of feller as no one could dislike; but the timesis 'ard and the worst of us must live. "

Here Higgins rang a little bell. When his attendant answered the summonshe told him that he was going out, but that if a sailor called Dentlooked in, he was to be asked to wait. 

Meanwhile Will and Bet were hurrying as fast as they could to thatpart of the town where St. Giles' Church was situated. The church wasa landmark, and it was easy to find it; and not very difficult, either, to ascertain where Mr. Phillips, the hardworked curate, resided. Bet, who could read well, had decided that they would apply to the curate, not to the vicar. 

"Mother knew a little about Mr. Phillips, " she said; "and I see hisname on the notice-board. He'll be maybe more willing to listen, formother said he were poor, arter a fashion, himself. "

The little house at which the two stopped was certainly humble-looking;and the parson's study, in which they presently found themselves, waspoorly furnished, with a threadbare carpet, a sad dearth of books, anda very feeble semblance of a fire. The curate, a thin, gray-hairedman, with a stoop, rose from his chair as the young couple came andstood before him. Will was feeling intensely sheepish and uncomfortable;but Bet, with the eagerness born of intense conviction, had no roomfor self-consciousness. 

"Ef you please, sir, " she said, flinging aside her mother's shawl, andspeaking not only with her lips, but with her glowing cheeks andsparkling, lovely eyes-"ef you please, sir, this is Will Scarlett, and I'm-I'm Elizabeth Granger. Mother used to mind you when youpreached, sir; and she often comed to your church when she was strongenough. We was to be wed at St. Giles', Will and me, come Thursday, parson. " Here she paused and gasped; and her eyes grew full of tears. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Phillips, in a kind tone. "You and this young man-asailor, I see-are to be married on Thursday; yes, very good. And youwill make him an honest, faithful wife, I hope. Can I do anything foryou? Anything to help either of you? Marriage is an honorable estate, none more so. "

The tears were still brimming over in Bet's eyes. She had got so far, but now the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. She lookedappealingly at Will, who instantly forgot himself, and came to herrescue. Taking her hand in his, he led her up to the curate's littlestudy table. 

"It's this way, " he said-"Bet nor me, we don't know the rights of it;but we've a mind to be made man and wife to-night, ef you're willing, parson. "

The curate opened his eyes, and was about to speak; but Bet interruptedhim. 

"Will says the truth, " she exclaimed--"we want to be tied up with someof the words out of your book, parson; so that no one can untie us, and so as we'll be true mates to one another for ever and ever. ForWill and me we loves one another, and I could-yes, I could be good efI was Will's true wife. But there are them--there are them as wantsto part us, and to ruin me, and to ruin him; and they'll do it, ef youdon't wed us tonight, parson. "

"And we don't want to cheat by it, " continued Will; "for we know thatGovernment must have its fees; and the license is ordered, and youshall have it to-morrow, parson, and here's thirty shillings to payfor it. It ain't no case of cheating-only the lass here she's skeeredlike, and it's right as she should have her way. Wed us to-night, efyou can, parson, " continued Will, and he laid a sovereign and ahalf-sovereign on the little study table. 

"Kneel down, Will, " said Bet. "He'll say the good words over us--Iknow he will, and we don't want to cheat. It's only as we mustn't beparted. Kneel down, Will. "

"She knelt herself, and held out her hand to Will, who dropped at herside. Nothing could be more impressive than the little scene, nor thebrief expectant silence which followed. 

"God bless you, my children, " said the curate--"God abundantly blessyou"--and he laid one hand for an instant on Bet's head, and the otheron Will's--"but"--here he paused, and seemed to swallow something, and the next words came out with difficulty: "I can't do what you wish. I would gladly if it were possible; but it is not. If I were to saythe marriage service over you tonight, I should be breaking the lawsof the Church and the laws of England. I won't ask you what your needis, but I am quite certain it is sore. I would give five pounds thismoment to be able to pronounce you two man and wife before you leavethis room. But it is impossible; the matter is not in my hands. Trustin God, and wait until Thursday. "

Bet rose to her feet without a word. All the color had left her cheeks, and the sparkle her eyes; and the hand with which she tried to rearrangeher mother's shawl about her shoulders trembled violently. 

"Good-bye, parson, " she said; and she did not lift her eyes as sheturned away. 

"Good-bye, sir, " said Will sorrowfully, as he followed her into thestreet. 

"Parson blessed us, darling, " said Will, putting his arm round Bet'swaist. "Kiss me, Bet. Thursday ain't long to wait. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

Bet went home, and all Wednesday she stayed indoors, taking little orno notice of her brothers, and never alluding to the subject of thewedding which was to take place the next morning. The boys, findingher intensely unsociable, devoted themselves to their own occupations, which were, after a fashion, absorbing enough. They discovered how toclimb on to the roof of this very tall house, and the spice of dangerwhich accompanied such a proceeding rendered it quite delightful tothem. From the roof of Mother Bunch's house they could slide or crawlon to other roofs; and Bet knew very little of the amount of libertythey enjoyed on these dirty but airy pinnacles. 

She heard their laughter as they scampered in and out of the attic to-day without paying much attention to it. She felt stupid and heavy, and the excitement she had undergone on the previous evening had inits recoil reduced her to a state of almost inertia. 

The slow hours dragged themselves along, and Bet's wedding-day, theday when parson could make her and Will one--when, the license beingthere, and the necessary formalities gone through, they might reallystand up in God's house and have the sacred knot tied between themforever--had arrived. 

It was a dull, foggy morning, with a drizzling mist. No matter; it wastheir wedding-day, thought Will, and no one could be more cheerfulthan he as he donned his becoming sailor suit and brushed his curlyhair, and made himself look as spruce and neat as any jack-tar in theland. Rain and mist were nothing to this son of the briny ocean, thesunshine was in his heart, and he could scarcely believe in thewonderful good fortune which was to give him the brightest, the dearest, the handsomest girl in the town. 

"Wish me luck, Mrs. Jobling, " he said, as he rushed downstairs andencountered his sour-faced landlady in the tiny entrance hall--"I'mto be wed this morning to Bet Granger, the finest and the best lassin Liverpool. You needn't keep the bedroom for me, Mrs. Jobling; forBet and me, we are going to Birkenhead for our honeymoon, and on MondayI'm off on another cruise. By the way"--here Will suddenly rememberedthe pretty sealskin purse; he thrust his hand into his trouserspocket--"is this yourn?" he said, holding the dainty treasure out forhis landlady to see. 

"No, no, " she said, backing a step or two; "I'd have no call to apretty thinglike that--why, it _is_ fine! Looks as if it belongedto a lady. However did you come by it, Will?"

"That's more than I can tell you, ma'am. It lay on the floor in myroom two nights back, and I picked it up. Well, if it ain't yourn, andI can't find no owner, it'ull do as a wedding-present for Bet. " Heslipped the purse again into his pocket and made off. 

Hester Wright had gone early to Paradise Row to fetch Bet, for she wasto be her sole bridesmaid--in fact, the only friend who was to see hergive herself to Will. Will had no best man. But what of that? His heartdid feel light this morning, and the gay notes which he sang as hehurried along the streets had an undertone of thanksgiving runningthrough them. He was glad the day had really arrived, and thought tohimself how relieved his poor girl would be, and how he could laughat the unreasonable fear which she had shown two nights ago. He hadcertainly never guessed that Bet was nervous; but she had shown themost unreasonable, the queerest terror when last they had met. Well, it was all right now, and he could prove to her how vain were heralarms. 

The doors of the church were not yet opened when the little weddingparty of three met. Bet's face was still pale, and her eyes had atired, almost hunted expression. She came close to Will and took hishand, utterly regardless of the significant looks of the passers-by. The words and glances of the multitude were nothing to her at thatmoment. She was holding her true love's hand; and the minutes wereflying, flying, and the danger that she dreaded must be even now ontheir heels. 

"What ail's you, Bet?" whispered Will, tenderly. "I'm here, and thehour ha' come. In a minute or two now nought can sever us. "

Bet did not speak. She clasped both her hands over Will's, and lookedanxiously over her shoulder to right and left. 

"Don't worry her, " whispered Hester Wright. "She has a dread on her, and there's no argufying it away. After you are wed it will pass. Don'tworry her with questions. "

Will sighed, and a cold little cloud seemed to come between him andthe sun of happiness in which he had been basking all the morning. 

Just then there was a bustle and a little commotion. It was only theverger unlocking the church doors. A small crowd of people who scentout even the humblest wedding had already collected-mostly raggedpeople, shoeless and stockingless boys and girls, women who soldwatercress, one or two loafers from the wharves. Will, Bet and Hesterwere just about to go into the church, when into the midst of thismotley group a man neatly dressed in plain clothes stepped briskly. He came straight up to Scarlett. 

"Is your name William Scarlett?" he said, "and do you live at Mrs. Jobling's, No. 10 Quay Street?"

"Yes, " said Will, in surprise. "I'm a sailor, and my name's WillScarlet. I have a bedroom at Mrs. Jobling's. "

"Yes, just so, " replied the man. "Oh, come now, young woman--I've aword to say to this party by himself. Just you let go your hand, youngwoman, if _you_ please. "

Bet seemed neither to hear nor to heed. Her disengaged arm was nowflung over Will's shoulder, and the hand which clasped his felt, inits intense grip, as strong and firm as iron. 

"I knew that it 'ud come, " she whispered between her set lips. 

Will looked down at her, and something in her terrible agitationinfected him strangely. He felt hot and annoyed and angry-almost angrywith Bet, for losing her presence of mind, very angry with the strangerfor intercepting him thus with ridiculous, senseless questions. 

"Parson's inside, " he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of thechurch; "and her and me is waiting to be wed. Ef you have anything tosay to me, mate, I'll hear it later on, after we is wed. --All the sameI don't know you, nor what your business can be, " he added. 

"My business is plain enough, young man. You're wanted, and you mustcome with me. I've a warrant here to arrest you on the charge ofstealing two five-pound notes--same being passed through the Bank ofEngland yesterday, with your name and address on the back. You'd bettercome off quietly, for there's no help for it, and the less you say thebetter, for whatever you does say I warn you will be used against you. Come, young woman, --hands off! You'd better let parson know that hisservices won't be wanting today. "

Bet's head was now lying on Will's breast; her wide-open eyes werefixed on his face. He stooped down and kissed her. He was very whitehimself, and felt rather dazed, but his anger was gone. 

"I can't make it out, sweetheart, " he whispered. "It's an ugly mistake, and to happen on our wedding morn. All the same it's nothing in lifebut a mistake, my dear; and I don't see, if there's a scrap of justicein England, how I can but be back with you by nightfall, darling. Youand Hester had better search up Dent, for he's the man to clear me, and I heerd you say as he hadn't sailed in the 'Good Queen Anne. ' NowI must go with this feller; but I'll come back to you and Hester soon, for in course I can tell how I got the notes. Here I am--at yourservice, sir. "

Will himself placed Bet's hand in Hester's. She had not said a wordnor sought to detain him; but when he turned the corner somethingseemed all of a sudden to stop in her heart; and the strong girl faintedin Hester's arms. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

In this land of justice there is nothing more incomprehensible thanthe extraordinary weight and power of merely circumstantial evidence. Never was there a more honest young fellow than Will Scarlett. Fromhis babyhood he had lived by the golden rule which does to others aswe would be done by; he had never given false measure, nor false words, nor had he been guilty of false deeds; in the true sense of the word, he was a Christian, --very bright, and gay, and jolly, and a primefavorite both with his captain and mates whenever he sailed abroad. 

Nevertheless, this young man who bore so excellent a character wasbrought up before the magistrates on the morning of his wedding-day, charged with having stolen two Bank of England notes. As Will was beinghurried to the police station, he felt quite certain that five minutes'conversation would set the whole matter straight; and he even wonderedif Mr. Phillips could be got to return to the church later in the dayto marry him to Bet. Bet's white, despairing face haunted him; and hetried to shut it away from his thoughts, and to dwell on the delightfulanticipation of soon setting all her fears to rest. 

But when Will appeared before the magistrates, matters did not go quiteso easily as he had imagined. In the first place, he was not allowedto tell his own story; and in the next, the sealskin purse which wasfound on his person was in the most remarkable way brought to bearwitness against him. For a young lady and her father appeared in thewitness-box who both identified the purse as hers; and this young ladywith the beautiful brown eyes looked very sorrowfully at Will, butalso said with great clearness that it was in that purse certainlythat the recovered notes had been placed by her, and it was mostundoubtedly out of that purse that twenty-six pounds in notes and goldhad been stolen. 

Will's anxious face cleared a little when Higgins appeared; but to hisamazement Higgins seemed to be altogether on the other side--spoke ofWill's eagerness and of Bet's trepidation, and how they both seemedin a great hurry and anxious to be rid of the notes at any price, andhow loth Will was to write his name and address on the back. In short, everything seemed to go quite against him: and the one longing thepoor fellow had was for Dent to be found--for, of course, Dent couldand would clear him. 

Finally he was remanded for a week, until some tidings could be gotof Dent; he spent that night in jail, with all hope of a speedywedding-day vanishing into the dim distance. Whatever happened, he hadlost his berth in the good ship which was to sail from the Mersey onthe following Monday;--whatever happened, too, was not his charactermore or less stained from this contamination with the prison?

When Bet recovered from her faint, she went straight home, but Hesterhastened to the police-court, to learn Will's fate. He saw her as hestood in the prisoner's dock; and all that eyes could convey ofsympathy, and belief, and longing to help, she gave him. When themagistrates uttered their judgment, and it was decided Will shouldspend the next week in the lock-up, Hester did push near enough to himto say--

"I'll take care of that lass of yours, cousin; and she and me, we won'tleave a stone unturned to find the man what 'as wronged you. "

Then Hester hastened off to Paradise Row, where she had first a longinterview with Mother Bunch, and then found her way upstairs to Bet'sroom. Bet was seated on the side of her bed; her hair looked rough anduntidy; her poor dress was no longer orderly; there was a flush ofdefiance on her cheeks, and a hard gleam in her eyes. 

"Well, ha' they done for him?" she said. "I never believed much ingoodness, and this day--well, this day's work ha' finished me. Don'ttalk to me of justice, nor mercy neither. What ha? they done with Will, Hetty? He's the only honest lad _I_ ever came across, --and there--he'stook up for thieving! Oh, don't ever talk to me about there being realgoodness in the world. "

"You talk silly, " said Hester. "It's badness has ruined Will Scarlett. The bad heart of a real wicked man has spoiled the honest lad. Don'ttalk about what you know nought on, Bet, but think how we can servehim. He's locked up for a week, so that Dent may be found and broughtto confess. You and me has a power to do in a week, and we have notime to talk silly words, what have neither sense nor meaning in 'em. "

Bet's face changed while Hester was speaking. The defiant, almostrepellant, look left it: it did not regain any of that strange softnesswhich transfigured it when in Will's presence; but it was no longerhopeless; the idea of work to be done had driven away the cruel demonof despair. 

"Oh, Hetty, " said Bet, running up to Hester, and dragging her down tosit beside her on the pallet bed. "I'm glad as there's summut to bedone. Mother allus said I was a hard 'un, and that the Almighty hadn'tno love for such as me. And I did feel hard arter Will were tookaway--for I never had no real happiness, Hester, until arter Will andI promised to wed each other--and I thought it must be true about theAlmighty hating such as me when He took Will from me at the very churchdoor. But I don't mind anything now, Hetty, if there's ought as I canserve the lad with. I'm despert--I'm despert, as far as I think ofmyself, but there's nought--_nought_--as I wouldn't do to serveWill. I'd break a promise--I'd break a promise made to the dying, --me, who never broke my word!--ef it would serve the lad I loves. There, Hetty--no one can go further than that, --no one can speak more solemnand meaningful. "

"Poor Bet!" said Hester. "Your heart's wrung, my dear--your words arewild, but their meaning's true enough. Will 'ull get a good wife inyou, Bet, and you'll forget an evil day like this by-and-bye. But now, "she added, "we has got to plan and to contrive, and the main thing isto find that villain Dent. I were at the police-court all day, and Iheard every word, and it seemed to me them men could twist anything, and turn black into white, and t'other way, just as it pleased them. And they did say things agin' Will as most took my own breath from me;and all the time the lad stood there, with his face as honest as thesky, only a bit puzzled like. But it seemed to me, and that's what Icome to you for, Bet, that the only chance for our poor Will is tofind that villain Dent, and get the truth out of him some way. Yousaid, Bet, that Dent hadn't sailed in Will's ship--oh, it's plain tobe seen as he give the lad the money just to get him into this trouble. And Will, he's like a baby, for thinking innocent of all the world. Well, well, I mustn't dwell on it, for my own heart burns; but ef youknow where Dent is hiding, Bet, you might get news of him, and bringme word as quick as may be. "

"I don't know where he hides, " said Bet, "but all the same I might getnews of him. I think I know a way, " she added, her face growing whiteagain and hard, --"you go home, Hetty; it ain't for you to help meagain in this matter, --you know my mind, and how I wouldn't stop atnought when I'm torn as I am to-night. But it ain't for you to helpme in this. You go home, Hetty dear; and ef I have news I'll look youup later on. " "Then I'll take the lads with me, " said Hester. "Youcan't do nought with them when you're all upset as you are now; andthey'll be good with me, and I'll give them summut to eat. Why Bet, my dear, you needn't take it in that way; for if I didn't do a goodturn to the poor little chaps for their sake and your own, wouldn'tI do it for Will, as is my own cousin, and who I love better thananybody else in the world? Don't you take on now, dear--don't you, "for Bet had flung her head down on her hands, and was giving way tothe most terrible, heartbreaking sobs. 

"Oh, the poor lads!" she said--"the poor, poor, little lads--and mypromise tomother! But there-Will comes afore all. Take 'em home, Hetty, and give 'em the best you can for to-night. No, no, boys--don't comefor to kiss me--I ain't a good sister to you no more. "

The captain and the general paid no particular attention to Bet'smanner. They were sorry she was in trouble, but the delight of goingoff with Hester soon made this dismal remembrance fade from their babyminds. The little party went away, and Bet was left alone in her attic. 

Her bridal night!--but what a night! Will lying lonely and forsakenin his prison cell, and she--she, Bet Granger, the poor, but also thehonest and upright, about to be unfaithful to the most solemn vow shehad ever taken in her life Never mind; love must still be lord of all, and Will must be saved at any price. 

She wrapped her shawl about her stately head, smoothed back the fuzzyred-gold locks, and went out into the desolate winter night. She leftParadise Row quickly behind her, and in a very short time was oncemore in Sparrow Street She stopped at the familiar door, and ran quicklyup the stairs. Her heart almost choked her as she stood for a momentoutside the door of the room where her mother had died. There was nosound; she turned the handle and went in. The room was empty, andlooked untidy, dirty, desolate. A little fire, however, lingered inthe grate, and a paraffin lamp smoked and smelt horribly on the dirtydeal table. Bet tucked up her dress, and in a few moments transformedthe room. The fire was built up, and burned brightly; the lamp wastrimmed, the ashes were swept out of the grate, and the chairs weredusted and put tidy. She found a dirty cloth which ought to have beenwhite, shook it and smoothed it out, and covered the deal table withit. She laid a couple of horn knives and forks, a couple of crackedplates, and a glass or two on the table. There was no food, however, in the cupboard, and she had no money in her pocket to buy any. Shesat down now by the glowing fire, and waited. She had tossed off hershawl, and the firelight fell on her pale, proud face; her lips werevery firmly set, and her resolute eyes looked into the fire. Inwardlyshe was faint and sick, for she had not tasted food that day; but shewas unconscious of absolute hunger, all the energy within both souland body being fixed on one idea. 

A step was heard on the stairs--a shambling step. Bet knew it. Shestood up, and when her father entered the room, confronted him witheyes that almost blazed. 

"Here I am, " she said. "I have come back--you can have your way. Youdidn't starve me out, but you took my heart and crushed it--you crushedit under your foot. You're a bad man; there's only one worse than you, and that's Isaac Dent. I have come back, and I'll stay ef you'll takeme on my own terms. Not unless--mind you that--not unless. "

Granger was a little the worse for drink. He was not really tipsy, buthe had taken enough slightly to confuse his brain; and the alteredaspect of the room and the sudden apparition of his daughter almostparalyzed him. 

"Well, I never!" he exclaimed, and he sank down, an abject-lookingfigure, on the nearest chair. 

"Do you hear me, father?" said Bet. She came up close and stood overhim. "I ha' come back, Ef you give me my terms, I'll stay. I'll stay, and I don't mind owning that I've been conquered. I'll do for you, andtend you, and keep the place tidy for you, same as I did when motherwas alive, and what money I earns you shall share. I'll be as true adaughter to you, father, as ef--as ef you was good. You want some oneto cosset you up, don't you father? You give me my way, and I'll doit. Cosy will be no name for you, father, and snug no word for thisyer room. "

Here Bet knelt down, and laid her shapely hand on Granger's arm; hereyes looked into his, and her lips, so hard and firm a minute ago, absolutely smiled. 

"You're none so young as you were, " she continued; "you're getting onin years, and your step's a bit shaky, and your hairs are turningwhite. You wants your comforts, father--course you do. Why, thisroom--it was shameful when I come in, and look at it now!--it's a bitspry, ain't it now?"

"For sure, yes; it _is_ spry, " said Granger, glancing round him in anervous, anxious manner. 

His daughter's strange demeanor and unusual gentleness by no meansreassured him. 

"What are you arter, Bet?" he said, as gruffly as he could manage tospeak. "You don't bring honeyed words like them 'ere into this housefor nothing. Tell out what you wants, and don't talk flummery. "

"I wants you and Dent to take the shame off Will Scarlett, " said Bet. "There's no flummery there--that's my meaning, spoke out plain. Youtwo ha' put shame on Will, and cast him into prison, and I want youto take him out again, and lift the shameful lie off him. That's all--itain't much, and it 'ull be the better for your souls--ef you have anysouls--that you should do it. "

Granger burst into a loud laugh. 

"You have the cheek!" he said. "And for you to wed him, I suppose, thewerry minute as he gets his liberty! No, no, Bet--none of that. I ain'tmuch--for sure I ain't much; but a gel brought up in Sparrer Streetshan't wed with no thief. There--I'm going out. I know nought aboutWill Scarlett. Neither Dent nor me could open his prison doors forhim. You talk rubbish, Bet, and I'm 'shamed to hear you. I'm goingout--you can set by the fire as long as you pleases, or you can goback to Paradise Row. "

Granger turned to the door. But Bet was before him. She turned the keyin the lock and put it in her pocket. 

"No, no, father; you don't go out until you hear my terms, " she said. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

All her softness had deserted her. She looked like what she was--awild, untamed creature brought to bay. 

"You ha' got to hear my terms, father, " she said. "I'll be a gooddaughter to you, but I want Will out of prison. You don't suppose asI don't know what you and Isaac Dent ha' done to my Will. You was madas I should be happy with Will, and Isaac Dent was mad 'cause Ishouldn't mate with he; and Isaac Dent stole the five-pound notes andthe purse, and other money besides, and he knew as the number of thenotes was took, and he was frightened, and so he give the notes toWill, and pretended as he wanted to buy his berth in the 'Good QueenAnne. ' But Dent didn't sail in that ship, father, and Dent's inLiverpool now--I know he is, for you axed me to meet him here sometime back, and Mother Bunch seed you and a sailor lad in the Star andGarter this week, and she heerd you plotting and planning, and sheknew--she guessed as there wor mischief brewing. There's a case agin'you and Dent, father, and you'd better come to my terms, or it 'ullfare worse with you. No harm'll come to you; but Dent--he must befound, and Will must be set free. There--you've got to do that; do youhear me?"

Granger crouched near the door. He neither liked Bet's manner nor herwords. She knew a great deal more than he had the least idea of. MotherBunch having overheard him and Dent as they laid their plans togetherin the Star and Garter was an awkward circumstance. The whole thinglooked ugly. He wished he were out of it. More particularly as he hadnever received any of Dent's promised gold. 

It behoved him, howe'er, to be careful, --on no account must he betrayhimself or his fears to this astute daughter. 

"You needn't speak so loud, Bet--I ain't deaf. It's a queer world, --it's a nice state, so to speak, of society when a gel takes to bullyingof her own father. You're quite mistook ef you suppose Dent is inLiverpool. A life on the ocean wave, with its storms and its fogs andits dangers, is poor Dent's life at present. But I don't say, " continuedGranger, lowering his voice, and trying to speak in a seductive manner, "I don't say as I couldn't get word with him. I won't say how, and Iwon't say when; and I won't say, either, but what he's as innocent asa babe; but word with him I might be able to get ef, --now, what's thematter, Bet?"

"Nothing, father--nothing much--only set you down by the fire and makeyourself cosy. There--you're all trembling; you're not as strong asyou ought for to be--you wants your comforts. You'd like a cup of teanow, wouldn't you? And no one can make tea like Bet--now, can they?"

"That's true enough, my gel--you can be a comfort ef you have a mind. No mistake on that point. Well, as I said, I might get word ofDent, --only hark you, Bet, you'll stay at home--there'll be no larksback to Paradise Row, and no bringing Mother Bunch to the front? You'llstay here, and be a comfort to your father?"

"Yes, father, I said I would, --oh, I can make you real cosy, there'sno doubt on that point. "

"And you'll bring the lads back, and not play no fool about them nomore? They're my lads, and you has treated me shameful in the matter. But you'll bring 'em back, to be under the shelter of their honestfather's roof? You understand--I'll do nought about finding Dentunless you comes back here--you and them boys. " Bet's face was convulsedfor a moment. 

"They shall come back, " she said, then--"that's the 'greement: me andthem living here as of old, and Will let out of his prison. "

"And there'll be no talk of your marrying yourself to the thief? I'lldo nought ef you give me that feller as a son-in-law. I'd rather asight leave him in prison--why, Bet, how white you air--I wouldn't bedoing my dooty as a father ef I seed you a flinging of your 'andsomeself away on a thief feller. "

Granger was right when he said Bet's face had grown white. Her longfast, all the anguish and agitation she had undergone, and now thisterrible last clause in the agreement she was making with her father, proved too much for her. She did not faint, as she had done in themorning; but she was absolutely incapable of replying. Her lips opened, it is true, but no articulate sound came from them. 

"I'm a bit weak, " she managed to gasp at last; "I han't eaten noughtto-day. "

Granger fetched her a little water, and then volunteered to go out tobring in bread and tea. He was still considerably puzzled and annoyedat Bet's knowledge of his doings; but he was glad to have the girl andthe boys once more in his power, and had great faith in Dent'sdiplomacy. 

Dent would soon settle things, and Bet should be his wife as quicklyas the license could be purchased. 

CHAPTER XX. 

The police were searching everywhere for a sailor called Dent. Theyset detectives to work, and had little doubt that long before the weekhad expired for which Will had been remanded they would find theirman, and establish the truth, or otherwise, of Will's story. 

When it commenced it seemed quite an easy search; but the days flewquickly, and neither about the docks, nor loafing round the quays, could anyone least bearing Isaac Dent's description be found. His namewas not on any ship's log, and the police came to the conclusion thatLiverpool really did not contain him. They advertised--they even offeredrewards for the slightest information; but no clue could they obtain. On the seventh day of Will's captivity they gave the matter up as abad job, and said that the sailor Dent was not in the city. 

They were mistaken. Dent had never left his native shores. He was notparticular as to his quarters--he was clever at disguising himself;and as there are in Liverpool courts and slums into which no policemancares to venture, it was not very difficult for Dent to elude theseworthies. 

Granger, however, had found him out, and Granger and he had manycolloquies, but not in a place where Mother Bunch could overhear. 

"I ain't afeard, " said Dent. "They can do nought to me, nor to youneither, mate. I'd like to go to the police court--and I will, too. But it won't be to clear Will--by no means, but quite the contrairy. Only I don't choose the police to be dragging of me forward. I'll gowhen I has made terms with Bet, and not afore. "

Then the men whispered together again, and laid their plans, whichwere quite as deep, and quite as wicked, as the most unprincipled coulddesire. 

Bet lived once more in Sparrow Street, earning thereby Mother Bunch'scontempt, and a queer, puzzled look from Hester Wright, who would notforsake her, but who certainly failed to understand either her or hermotive. She brought the boys home; and now her father's room in SparrowStreet was kept fairly neat, and the lads resumed the life which hadbeen broken off at their mother's death. They shrank from their father, who, absorbed in other things, did not trouble them much just then;and they looked with great wonder and perplexity at Bet. She was notthe Bet of old; she took scarcely any notice of them; she never smiledwhen they came near her; she said nothing at all now about their beinggood boys, and never by any chance did she allude to their mother'sname before them. 

She spent her whole time watching and listening, --starting and changingcolor at the merest sound, looking eagerly at her father whenever hecame into the house, avoiding Hester Wright, eating next to nothing, wearing away her sleeping hours in long, exhausting fits of weeping. Will's week in prison was nearly over, and Bet in the time hadchanged--changed so much that it almost seemed as if years had goneover her head. Her cheeks were thin, all the color had left her face, and her eyes looked now too bright and large for beauty. 

On the day previous to Will's again appearing before the magistratesthe poor girl's restlessness became almost unbearable. Granger stillgave her to understand that Dent was not in Liverpool. He would findhim--yes, he said, he was certain to find him; but Bet did not knowthat he had done so, and her terrors were proportionately great. Shecould not sit still for a moment--but paced up and down, up and downthe small room where her mother had died, like a caged animal. 

The captain and the general were off on expeditions of their own; hourspassed, but no one came near the unhappy girl. 

At last, when her impatience had almost burst bounds, Granger arrived. 

"I ha' done it, Bet, " he said. "It rests with you now--Dent is found. "

"Thank God!" she exclaimed, involuntarily. She fell on her knees beforeher father and clasped his hands. "Feel how my heart beats, " shesaid--"I were nearly going mad. Father, there'll never be a betterdaughter to you than me in all Christendom, from this time out. Youha' found Isaac Dent, and he'll be in the witness-box to save Willto-morrow. Thank God Almighty! There's hope yet in the world. "

"I ha' found Dent, " continued Granger, rubbing his rough sleeves acrosshis mouth in a furtive manner. "I told him about Will, and he's willingto go to the police-court to-morrow--that is, ef you're agreeable. "

"I agreeable, father?" Bet laughed excitedly. "You know my mind onthat; and so does Dent. Why, I could almost find it in my heart tocall him a good feller, ef he saves my lad. "

"Ay, Bet--that's just it. " Granger shuffled again, and would not meethis daughter's eye. "He wants you to call him a good feller; he wantsyou to be werry particular kind to him, seeing as he won't stir handnor foot to save Will Scarlett until you takes yer oath as you'd wedwith him. Ay, that's it, Bet--you ha' got to face it; by no other meanscan you set that lad of yourn free. You ha' got to face it, and Dentmust have his answer to-night. "

Bet did not speak at all for about a minute. 

"I feared as this might come, " she said at last In a queer voice. "Idid hope as God Almighty might have spared me. But it weren't to be. It's miles worse nor giving up my life. "

She had been kneeling by her father; now she started to her feet, andwrapped the plaid shawl about her head and shoulders. 

"I'm going to Hester, " she said. "I'll give you your answer when Icomes back. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

Bet walked quickly through the streets. She pushed back her hair underher plaid shawl: her eyes looked bright, and her step was once morefirm and erect. 

"There are all kinds of love, " she kept muttering to herself--"allkinds-there's the love that gives, and the love that gets. Seems tome that mine must be the love that gives. "

A queer little smile came over her face as this thought entered herbrain. She walked still more quickly, and clenched her strong hand, while resolution and the noble determination of self-sacrifice gaveher a false strength. Bet was not ignorant of certain verses of theBible. She had never read the Bible, for her mother's form of religionhad rendered the idea of looking into its pages distasteful to her;but words from it had been quoted many times in her poor home, and oneof its verses now floated into her memory: _"Greater love hath noman than this--that a man lay down his life for his friend. "_ Thewords brought with them a healing sense of comfort. She really did notknow from where they were taken, but she found herself repeating them, and she knew that if she really agreed to marry Dent, she would giveup far more than her life for Will. No questionings as to the rightor the wrong of this action came to perplex her--she never for aninstant supposed it possible that Will could prefer prison with thethought of her waiting for him at the end, to liberty with her lostto him forever. No, no; sailors, of all men, must be free--free as thewind or the air. Will must once more go where he pleased, and tastethe briny ocean in salt spray on his lips. Confinement would kill aroving spirit like his. He would be sorry to have lost her--Bet; butby-and-bye he would find another lass to comfort him. 

Just at present Bet had a sense of exaltation that caused her scarcelyto feel any pain. The worst had now come and was over--her heart beatcalmly; she had nothing further to dread; and she ran quickly up thestairs to Hester's room, and looked in with almost a bright face. 

"I ha' come, " she said, drawing her breath fast, --"Dent is found, Hetty, and Will will be free to-morrow night. "

"Oh, how glad I am!" said Hester. She had been making up her fire andtidying the room before going to rest. She went straight up to Bet, now, and put one arm round her neck, and raised herself a little tokiss the taller girl. 

"You'll be happy, yet, Bet, " she said; "and God knows I'm glad of it. "Bet did not respond to Hester's kiss. She held herself very erect, andlooked down calmly into the singer's eager, enthusiastic face. 

"It's a good thing Dent is found, " she repeated. "I came to you Hetty, to ask you ef you'd help me to write a letter to Will. You're more ofa scholard than I am, and I thought maybe atween us I might make mymind known to the lad. "

"For sure, Bet, I'll help you to write, " said Hester. "But ef Dent isfound, and witnesses for Will, you'll see him in a few hours, honey;and it don't seem worth while to put into writing what can be toldwith the lips. "

"I'll see Will to-morrow, " repeated Bet, "for I'll be in the police-court; but, all the same, it's my mind to put a few words in writing, so that the lad may know clear what my meaning is. You'll help me, won't you, Hetty, seeing as you're more of a scholard than me?"

"To be sure I will, " said Hester. And going to a drawer, she took outa penny bottle of ink, an old pen, and a sheet or two of very thin, poor writing paper. 

"Shall I write or will you?" she said, looking up at the girl, whostood still and upright in the middle of the room. 

"Set down, Bet, dear, and take the pen in your own fingers--ef theletter's for Will, he'd like to have the writing yours. Set down, andI'll help you to spell out the words. "

"No, " said Bet; "I ain't a scholard, and my hand shakes. I'll saywhat's in my heart, and you'll write it for me, Hetty, dear. "

She moved over now to the fireplace, and leaned one elbow on the tinymantel-shelf; her face was quiet, but Hester could not help remarkingthe absence of hope in her eyes. 

"Are you sure that Dent will appear in the witness box?" she asked. "Seems to me as if he'd scarce dare to; for he'll have to say how hecome by the notes. You know, Bet, and so do I, that he's the realthief; and ef he appears to clear Will, seems to me he must confesshis own share. Are you sure as he'll do it, Bet?"

"He told father so, " replied Bet. "He's deep, and he'll find a way. He said as he'd do it for a price--it were a heavy one--he wouldn'tdo it for nought else; he named his price, and he promised that forthat he'd clear Will. "

"I don't see how he's to do it, " repeated Hester, looking more andmore dissatisfied. "Dent ain't the man to pop himself into the jail. And a price? You and Granger han't got any money. It's deceived youare, I fear me, Bet. "

"No, " said Bet--" the price is _me_--there ain't no deceit, andhis meaning's quite plain. When Dent saves Will, he's to have me. I'mto wed him--them's the terms--there ain't no use argufying, Hester;but it's all plain--Dent will clear Will, and keep out of prisonhisself, for he's as clever as he's bad. And I'm to be his wife. Nowyou write the letter. "

"That I won't, " said Hester, flinging down her pen. "Ef you think I'mgoing to break Will's heart, and yourn, too, you're fine and mistook. Dent is playing the fool on you, Bet Granger; and you're no true lassto give up Will on any terms. "

Hester spoke with great vehemence and passion. She was horrified atwhat she considered sacrilege. She could not understand Bet. Risingfrom her seat, she pushed her writing materials away, and stooped overthe hearth. 

"There, " she said, as she poked the little fire--"I'm glad as you hasspoke out your mind. You hate Dent, and you'll marry him; and you'llgive Will his liberty, but you'll break his heart. No, no--I won'twrite that letter. "

"I'll do the best that I can myself, " replied Bet. She was not theleast angry or excited. She sat down by Hester's table, and taking upthe pen dipped it in the ink, and with difficulty began to put herwords on paper. Her head was bent low, and her hand labored; but shedid not pause, nor glance again at Hester. Minutes passed intohalf-hours: one--two--three of these went by before Bet, with a burningflush on one cheek, and the other deadly white, finished her letter. 

"There, " she said. "You don't understand me, Hetty, but I ha' made itall clear to Will. Here's the letter. Seal it up for nought but himto see. When he's free to-morrow, give it to him, Hetty, and don'tthink harder than you can help of poor Bet Granger. "

She laid the letter on the mantel-piece by Hester's side, wrapped hershawl again about her head, and went out. 

CHAPTER XXIL. 

"You ha' got the promise of the girl?" said Dent. 

"Yes, yes--that's sure and certain. "

"All right; then I'll go to the police-court. Now look you here, Granger--you don't s'pose as I'm _really_ going to give that chaphis liberty?"

"You won't wed Bet else, " replied Granger. 

"So _you_ say. Well, set down, man. We has half-an-hour afore us, and I've got to think one or two things out. Are you quite aware, ormust I make it plainer to yer, the only way in which I could let Willout?"

"It don't seem over clear, for sartin, " replied Granger. "But you'rea clever chap, Dent, and I trusts yer. You'll let the lad out, andyou'll wed my gel, and you'll give me my share of the siller. Come, now--that's plain enough, ain't it?"

"_This_ is plain, " said Dent, knocking the ashes out of his pipe-the two men were loafing together near one of the quays--"this isplain, and this only--that when Will comes out of prison I goes in. I can't prove Will Scarlett innocent without proving myself t'otherthing. Is it likely now--you tell me as it's likely--ef I'll lendmyself to that sort of plan?"

"Only you said it, " replied Granger. "And for sartin my gel won't wedyou else. "

"And, " continued Dent, "when I'm locked up, it won't look too nice foryou. There are a few things as 'ull come out about that money as Istole. Ef I'm took up, Liverpool 'ull be a sight too hot for you, Granger. You take my word on that point. "

Granger's bloated and red face turned pale. He did not speak at allfor a moment. Then he said, slowly: "You has a plan in your head, IsaacDent; and the sooner you outs with it the better it'll be for you andfor me. "

"Yes, " said Dent, smiling. "You're about right there, mate. I has aplan, and this is it--I mean to go to the police-court to-day--I meansto witness there; but not for Will Scarlett, but _agin_' him. He'llswear as I give him the notes; I'll swear tother way. His case looksblack now--I'll make it of a double-dyed darkness. I'll do for him. That'll be none so difficult. "

"But what about Bet?" said Granger. "I don't care about Scarlett. It'snought to me how long he stays in prison. But how'll you get Bet towed you, ef you treats the lad so, is more nor I can make out. "

"We'll blind her, " said Dent. "Throw dust in her eyes--eh? That's whereyou can help me, Granger--and five pound, not in notes, but gold, forthe job. "

Granger looked dubious. 

"Bet's going to the police-court, " he said. 

"She mustn't go--no, not on no account. Look here, Granger, you wern't, so to say, special tender and fatherly to them boys o' yourn, wereyou?"

"What now?" said Granger. 

"Well, just this, " replied Dent. "I want you to take them boys, andmanage so as Bet shall have a hint of it, and pretend as you're goingto do bad by them. Take them out of her sight. She'll follow--she'llspend all the time, while Will's little business is being settled, looking for the boys. It can be done, and we'll lure her out ofLiverpool, and we'll pretend as Will is free, until such time as I canwed her. Then I don't care what she knows. Come into the 'Star andGarter, ' mate--we'll have a drink, and soon fix up this yer business. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

It sometimes happens that a very valiant and resolute spirit iscontained in a small body. Bet Granger's little brothers, known in theslums as the captain and the general, were as thin, as lanky, asunder-grown little chaps as could be found in Liverpool. Not a scrapof superfluous flesh had they, and certainly not an iota of superfluousgrowth. They were under-fed, under-sized; but nevertheless brave spiritsshone out of their eyes, and valiant and even martial ideas animatedtheir small frames. The "Cap'n" and the "Gen'ral" were considered soplucky by the other boys--and girls of the neighborhood that as a rulethey were asked to take the command in a fight, and to assume leadingand distinguished positions in a general fray. Most valiantly thenwould they strike out left or right--regardless of black eyes, indifferent to bumps or blows. They looked like little furies on theseoccasions, and the other children applauded and admired. It was wellknown in Sparrow Street, and it was even beginning to be recognizedas a certain fact in Paradise Row, that when both the captain and thegeneral were engaged together in one encounter there was not thesmallest chance of the opposite side winning. 

These untrained and somewhat desperate little bravos had also certaininstincts which taught them to espouse the cause of those weaker thanthemselves: and it was often a ludicrous as well as a pathetic sightto see these small champions leading the van, and eagerly supportinggirls and boys a great deal bigger than themselves. Their mother hadcertainly told them that fighting was sinful; but it was the breathof life to them, and when Thady was once asked what he liked best inthe world, he answered promptly, "Punchin' another feller's head. "These small boys were quite little braves in their way; but, as thereis a weak point in the most invincible armor, so were there conditionsunder which the general and his gallant captain would undoubtedly showthe white feather. There was a presence which could effectually quenchthe ardor of two pairs of keen eyes, could cause two little faces toblanch to an unwholesome and sickly hue, could cause two little heartsto beat anxiously, and could so affect the moral equilibrium of twovery steadfast little souls, that lies would fall glibly from theirlips, and the coward's weapons of deceit and subterfuge would be gladlyused by them in self-defence. 

It was a father who had this effect upon his children; and the torturingand ruining of these young child-lives was being effected in thecivilized England of our nineteeth century. Granger represented a nottoo uncommon type of man, and Nat and Thady did not suffer more thanhundreds of other boys when exposed to his influence. 

On the morning after Bet had written her letter to Will, she roseearly, and was preparing to go to the police-court, to look her laston her lover, when the door of their one little room in Sparrow Streetwas burst rudely open, and Granger, his face red and bloated, and hiswhole manner indicating that he had reached the quarrelsome stage ofinsobriety, entered the room with heavy strides. He was a big man, powerfully made, and when in his present condition even Bet thoughtit wisest to let him alone. He entered the room and glared about himsavagely. A great deal of this manner was put on, for he was actinga part under Dent's instructions; but none of his children knew this, and when striding across the room, he caught the poor little blue-eyedcaptain by his ragged collar, the boy uttered a scream, and the general, basely deserting his brother, rushed to Bet for protection. 

"Give up that lad, " shouted Granger, hoarsely. "I want the two of 'em. They are my lads, and you have played the fool with 'em long enough. I have got work as 'ull suit them, away in Warrington, and I'm goingto take 'em by an early train. There--hands off, Bet--give me thelads. " "Never, " cried Bet. She looked like a wild creature about tobe deprived of her young. Holding one arm firmly round the general, she gripped the little captain by the other hand. 

"Gi' them up to me, father! You shan't have them--you shan't touchthem--there! What do you mean? You take 'em away to work at I knowsnot what?--and they no more nor seven years old! Let 'em be--they'remy lads, and you shan't harm a hair of their heads. "

The boys clung to her, with white faces. The man, savage and amazedat this unexpected resistance, stood wavering for an instant. At thatmoment it seemed to Bet as if a thousand furies possessed her, and athousand strengths were given to her. All the accumulated anguish ofthe past week seemed to gather vehemence now, and to lend iron forceto her muscular arms. She wrenched the little captain quite away fromthe red-faced, bloated man; and then, both arms freed for a moment, she actually pushed him before her to the door, and, before he couldutter a word, or collect his scattered forces, she locked him out. 

"There! lads, " she said, turning round with a triumphant half laugh, "you see as Bet's as good as her word. "

"You're a born fighter, " said the captain, in a tone of admiration. He recovered his spirits and his courage on the spot, and in a fewmoments he and the general were amusing themselves in acting the scenewhich Bet had just gone through. 

"Boys, " said their sister's voice, after ten minutes had passed, andno attack been made on the door, she concluded that Granger had forthe present withdrawn himself--"Boys, I'm a wanting to go out. "

"Oh, no, Bet, no--father'll come back. "

"But the door's werry strong. I'll lock it from the outside, and makeoff with the key. I won't be long, boys; I'm a hungered to seesomebody--my heart draws me, and I'm in pain. You won't be in anydanger, dear lads, and I'll be back werry soon. I jest want to seteyes on one face that I'll never see no more. You won't be afeard, efthere's a locked door between you and father. "

The rare tears which scarcely ever came to her stood in Bet's eyes. 

"No, we won't be afeard, " said the captain, running up to his sister--"there ain't nought to be afeard of. You're wanting to see yoursweetheart--ain't yer, Bet?"

"No, " said Bet, with an almost-cry--"I han't got a sweetheart now. Allthe same, I hungers for the sight of a face. And I'll be back soon. Don't you be fretting, lads. There'll be a locked door atween you andharm. "

She wrapped her shawl about her, waited for no further words, lockedthe door on the little prisoners, and rushed downstairs. As she said, her heart was drawing her. Nothing but that passionate hunger wouldhave caused her to forsake the children at this supreme moment. Thehouse was intensely quiet, for most of the lodgers had gone out ontheir day's avocations. Not a sign of Granger was to be seen. 

Bet walked fast, and presently reached the police-court, where Willwas to be tried. A crowd of people were waiting outside; a few policemenstood about. The doors of the building were not yet open. Bet sawHester Wright standing very near the entrance. She made an effort toget to her, and called her name over the heads of the crowd; but Hester, after looking at her coldly, turned her back without making anyresponse. This action cut Bet to the quick. She found the tears againspringing to her eyes. Oh! for one glance, if only the last, of Will'skind face. The minutes dragged themselves along; the crowd increased;but as the right hour had not yet come, the doors remained fast shut. At last, at the stroke of ten, they were opened, and Bet was pressingin with the rest, when she felt a hand laid heavily on her arm. Sheturned, to see the coarse black-eyed girl who had bought her beatfrom Granger. 

"Ef I was you, I'd go home, Bet, " said the girl. 

"You mind your own business, " said Bet, shaking her off roughly. 

"Well--there's a mischief brewing, and I saw what I saw. Don't you sayas you wasn't warned; and ef the two little chaps come to grief, itain't Louisa Perkins' fault. "

These last words alarmed Bet. 

"Say out yer say at once, " she answered, clutching the girl now, andforcing her back against the crowd who were pushing their way into thebuilding, --"say your say and have done, " she repeated. "What has cometo the lads? I left them safe not an hour agone. "

"I saw Granger making off with them. "

"You didn't--that's a lie! I left them locked up safe in my room. "

"Granger was hurrying off with them, " repeated Louisa, "werry red inthe face, and mad like. The captain was crying, and t'other chap hada red mark down his cheek--it's not a quarter of an hour by St. Giles'clock as I saw him. "

"Where was they going?" asked Bet. "Tell me quick, or I'll shake you. "

"Down Castle Street, making for Lime Street and the railway station, I expect. "

Bet ceased to push inwards with the crowd. They went past her, and thelittle police-court was soon filled to overflowing. Isaac Dent almostrubbed against her shoulder as he went by. He winked at Louisa, butBet never noticed him. 

"Hester--Hester Wright!" she suddenly called out. 

Hester had not yet gone into the police-court. She was standing againstone of the posts of the door, watching the crowd as they filed past. 

"Hester!" repeated Bet. "Hetty--Hetty! Come and speak to me for aminute! I must go, but I want to send a message. Just one word, Hetty, --Hetty, come!"

Perhaps Hester did not hear. At any rate, she neither turned nor heeded. Bet gave a low despairing cry; then, flinging her shawl off hershoulders, she ran as fast as if there were wings to her feet in thedirection of Sparrow Street. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

She reached her destination very quickly. The smooth-faced landlordwas standing at the door. 

"Eh! is that you, Bet Granger?" he exclaimed. "Eh--you are in a taking. You might stop a minute to pass a civil good-morning with a chap. Well, what a gel that is! But ain't she handsome--just. "

Bet flew past him like a whirlwind, and his last words were addressedto the empty air. Three pairs up she ran, her breath coming quickerand quicker. On the landing she paused, and pressed her hand to herwildly beating heart. It was all quite true. Louisa Perkins had nottold her a lie. The room door stood wide open; the room itself wasempty. 

"Boys!" she called, when she could gather breath to speak. "Littlelads, I ha' come back to you! You needn't hide no more, for Bet'syere. "

But she knew as she said the words that the boys were not hiding. Theyhad fallen into the clutches of the oppressor--they had gone. She wentslowly now into the deserted room. She was waiting for her breath toreturn, for her heart to beat easily, to commence her search. Yes:that was the only duty left to her in life--to find the boys and redeemher promise to her mother. She sat down on a chair, and wiped herheated forehead, and gradually made her plans. First of all she wouldgo to Mother Bunch--and then, then--away to Warrington. Warrington wasnot a big place; it would be impossible for Granger to elude her longthere. Could she once again find the lads she need not greatly fearher father. After all she had nearly, if not quite, his physicalstrength; and she believed that if it came to a personal encounterbetween them, her muscles, joined to her woman's wit, would give herthe victory. 

Opening the front of her dress, she pulled out a handkerchief, and, unknotting it, looked at the little money in her possession. Thehandkerchief only contained a few pence--certainly not the price ofa third-class fare to Warrington. As she was leaving the room, however, she caught a hidden gleam on the little deal dresser. She ran to itand picked up half-a-crown. How had it got there? She had no time tothink of that; it was hers now, to use as she thought best. She wouldgo to Mother Bunch first. That worthy was offended with her; but whatof that, she must soothe Mother Bunch's temper, make her once more herfriend, get her to look out for any tidings of the boys, and then goon her wildgoose chase to Warrington. 

Whenever Mother Bunch was not eating, sleeping, or scolding some one, she was engaged over the wash-tub. It might have puzzled an outsiderto know what results she achieved from such arduous labor, for shescorned to take in washing as a profession; and neither she nor hergood man, a certain lanky-looking Patrick O'Flaherty, were remarkablefor the whiteness of their linen, or the general cleanliness of theirapparel. 

Mother Bunch washed and washed, hanging out numerous garments to dry, rinsing the suds from her own arms, rendering her small kitchen dampand messy at all hours, and during all seasons. She scarcely raisedher head when Bet entered. The soft sound of the soapy water and thegentle splash of the dripping garments greeted the girl as an accustomedsound, and Mother Bunch's broad back was reassuring. 

"Oh, Mrs. O'Flaherty, " said Bet, running up to her, putting her armsround her neck, and imprinting a kiss on her soapy forehead. "I'm ina sight of trouble, and I've come to you to help me. "

"Glory! child, don't stand right in the way of the soap suds! Thereyou go--splashing all the clothes, and I'll have to wash 'em all overagain. Oh, dearie, dearie me--my heart's broke, and that's the truthI'm telling ye. Well, honey--and so ye comes back to Mother Bunchwhen you want a rale drop of consolation. You know as the oldIrishwoman's your frind, and don't bear no malice. "

"I know that, Mother Bunch! I think now I did wrong to take the ladsaway from you--only I did it for the best. "

"Well, now, honey, I wouldn't say that ef I was you. You did it forlove, and love's contrairey. But don't talk to me of doing it for thebest. How's that broth of a boy, Scarlett? Have you got your own wayabout him, lovey?"

"Yes, " said Bet. "Will has got his liberty by now. " Her face turnedwhite. "We won't talk of that; there was a price to be paid and it'spaid. Will is free, that's a comfort. "

"Yes, " said Mother Bunch. "But there's a sore thrubble on ye, honey. I see it in your eyes. I'm glad the lad's free. Ef they consailed alad like that in prison--why it would have been the death of him, mydear. Will's the boy that must have his liberty. I expect you'll findhim quare and altered, even after one week of prison, Bet. "

Bet's face brightened, "I'm glad that you, too, understand Will, " shesaid. "I knew that the prison would kill my lad. He's free now. "

"And why arn't you with him, honey? Why, it's an iligant wedding youought to be having together, and Mother Bunch dancing an Irish jig, and pouring down blessings on the heads of two of yez. Come now, Bet, what's up? Spake your mind free to the old Irishwoman. "

"I have nothing to tell, and I can't wait, " said Bet. "Father havetook away the two lads, and I'm follering of him. He said he wouldtake them to Warrington. I'm a-going arter him, and I'll fetch themback; only I thought I'd tell you, Mother Bunch, so as you might keepyour ears open, and let me know ef there's any tidings or news going. Father may have said Warrington jest to deceive me, for he's awfuldeep, and the lads may be here all the time. You keep your eyes open, and your ears too, Mother Bunch, and I'll come back to you in a dayor so ef I can't find them. Now, good-bye--I'm off, I want to catcha train. "

Bet found herself at Warrington soon after one o'clock. 

She was landed on the platform and stood looking round her in abewildered way. The place was totally strange, and she felt like adeserted vessel cast adrift from its usual moorings. There was no partof Liverpool where she would not know what to do and how to act; buthere, standing on this lonely, deserted platform, with scarcely anymoney in her pocket, her head aching, her tired brain dull and confused, she scarcely knew where to turn. If her father were really here withthe children, it might not be such a very easy task to find them. 

She was startled by a familiar, half-mocking, half-exultant voice ather elbow. She turned quickly, and there stood the sailor, Isaac Dent. 

"Ha, ha! sweetheart!" he said. "I wasn't long in a-follering of youup--was I? And you're mine now, my beautiful Bet. You're mine, and nomistake. "

Bet's eyes flashed, and her face grew crimson, --it was as much as shecould do to restrain the impulse to raise her hand, and strike Dent. But then she recollected herself. After all, she did belong to thisman, and Will's liberty was the price. "You know my terms, " she said, when she could find her voice to speak. "Is my lad free? Ef my lad'snot free as the air--I'll--! Tell me that afore I have any more wordswith you. "

Dent laughed; he was in exuberant spirits. 

"Your lad!" he repeated. "It seems to me as I'm your lad. Name thefeller you mean in some other way afore I answers any saucy questions. You're a fine young woman, Bet, but you has to go Isaac Dent's waynow. What's the name of the feller you wants me to tell you about?"

"Will Scarlett--is he out of prison?" replied the girl. She swalloweda deep breath, and her face was white and cold as marble. 

"Yes; Will Scarlett's free, " answered Dent "He's out of prison, incourse, and he's free as the air. All owing to that good feller Dentstanding up for him, and witnessing for him, and proving him asinnercent as the babe unborn. My word!--worn't he glad to get hisliberty. And didn't he wring my hand, and say, 'God bless you, my boy!'You sent him a letter, Bet, and he read it, and gived me a line or twoto take to you. You'd know Will's fist ef you see'd it on an envelopenow--wouldn't you?"

"I can't say, " replied Bet. "Give me his letter!"

"All in good time, my pretty--all in werry good time! Shall we walkdown the street a bit? You're obliged to poor Isaac Dent, now, ain'tyou, Bet? He have done his part by Will Scarlett, haven't he?"

"Yes, Isaac. I'm much obleeged to yer. I'm glad as Will is free. Giveme the letter what he writ to me, please. "

"I will, by-and-bye. You have got to forget him now. You're mine now--you remember as that's the bargain?"

"Yes, Isaac, I remember--I'll wed you as soon as you can fix up thelicense. Oh, I'm glad that Will is free! Did he look awful bad andchanged, Isaac?"

"Bad?" repeated Dent. "Yaller as a guinea, --awful, he look--but he'llbe better soon. He said to me, 'Another week o' this, and I'd ha' beena dead man, Dent--bless you, Dent, old pal' said Will--'and take thegel and my blessing too. She was right, Bet wor--liberty's more noranything else to a sailor chap. Oh, yes--I'll miss her; for she wasrare and handsome; but, lord there's plenty of other good fish in thesea;' and then he writ this letter, and give it me--jest a line ortwo, to make it all square atween you and me, as he said. And he'llcome and see us arter his next voyage, he said. Here's the letter, Bet--and obleeged you ought to be to me, sweetheart. "

"Thank you, Isaac, " replied Bet. 

She took Will's letter with a hand that trembled, and thrust it unopenedinto the bosom of her dress. 

"It wor what I wanted, " she muttered, half under her breath. "All thesame I'm stunned like. Isaac, I ha' come here to find father and thelads. Father has made off with the two boys, and he dropped a hintabout bringing 'em here. "

"Werry like he did, " replied Dent. "He dropped a hint to me aboutmaking a tidy penny or so out of them boys round yere. Ef you stay fora day or two, Bet, you'll most likely find them. I'll help you all Ican. And Warrington ain't a bad place to stop in. We might be marriedhere--why not? I know a decent gel here what'll share her room withyou--we'll go and find her now. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

Dent soon made terms with the girl who was to accommodate Bet withhalf her room. Her terms were half-a-crown a week, which Dent offeredto provide. Bet, however, scowled at him. 

"None o' that" she said. "I ain't your wife yet--and I can't be, neither, thank goodness, for a fortnight. Jenny here says I may goround with her and help her to hawk her basket. I'll help Jenny withher bits of cress and vegetables-and I want no help from you. "

"You're a proud 'un, " said Dent, "but I'll break yer in yet. "

He spoke more angrily than he had meant. Bets cheeks grew white; hewas turning away, but she followed him. 

"Listen, Isaac, " she said. "I'm not your wife yet; and by the laws ofEngland I can't be for a fortnight. It was them laws as parted me andWill--cruel, I thought them--bitter cruel. Him and me would have beenmated together, and safe and happy--oh, yes! we two would have beenhappy but for them laws which we mustn't break, if we was to be honestand true man and woman. And them same laws stand good still, IsaacDent; and I can't come to you to be wedded to you under a fortnight. They was cruel once--now they're kind; they gives me a fortnight aforeI steps into a state what will be worse nor death to me--ay, worsethan the cold grave! We must wait a fortnight, Dent--you must wait awhole fourteen days afore you take to bullying me. And, listen, Dent--I'm a despert girl. I have lost all that makes life worthanything. You trust me 'cause you know it's said everywhere as BetGranger keeps true to her word through all things. But I ha' broke apromise already made most solemn to my mother when she lay a-dying;and ef you tries me too far, and don't do what I wish for the nextfortnight afore we can come together--why, I'll fling my word back inyour face, and dare you to do your worst. I'm despert--evn my wordain't much to me, now. And I'll do it, Isaac, I'll do it; I'll declareas I'll never, never be wed to you! You can't harm me--you can't forceme. And Will's free now. You could never touch me at all except throughWill. And now my lad's free, and the salt sea will soon blow the prisonlook out of his face. You haven't got me yet, Isaac Dent: so you hadbetter humor me for the next fortnight. "

Dent's unwholesome face became much mottled and disturbed in hue duringBet's speech. When she spoke of Will being free, his lips took an uglysneer, and he found extreme difficulty in restraining himself. He waswell aware, however, that if he disclosed the fact of his own treacheryhis last hope of winning this proud lass was over. After all, nothingheld her to him but her promise; and if she came to regard promisesin the same light in which he did, all his pains and troubles wouldbe thrown away. If he wished to win her, it behoved him, therefore, to be cautious, and, as she put it very plainly, to humor her. Afterthe wedding day all the self-restraint which he must at present exhibitmight be withdrawn. His feelings for Bet contained a curious mixtureof anger and fierce admiration. It never occurred to him for a momenteven to try to make her a good husband; but get her he would--oh, yes--possess her he must. 

When she harangued him thus, with her eyes flashing, and a world ofscorn curving her beautiful lips, he replied gently, drawing close toher, but not offering to touch her. 

"I'll do anything in my power to please you, Bet, " he said. "I ain'ta bad sort--my bark's worse nor my bite. I'm not a polished diamond. But ef I don't make you a good husband, and ef you and me won't havethe jolliest little house in Liverpool together, my name ain'tDent--no--my name ain't Dent. You trust me, Bet--I'll not anger youeither now nor in the future. What is it you wants me to do?"

"To leave me alone, " said Bet, "until you can fetch the license andbring me to church with you. Ef I was to see too much of you atweennow and our wedding, no promise that ever was would bind me. You keepaway, Isaac, and leave me my fortnight in peace, and I'll do what Isaid I'd do--yes, I'll do it--I'll pay the price. You go back toLiverpool, Isaac, and leave me yere--I has to find father and the lads. And ef Jenny's a good sort, I'll stay with her. Ef she ain't, I'llfind my own lodging. But in no case will I walk with you, or talk withyou, until the day as we is wed. Ef I stays here for a fortnight wecan be wed here, but you must go back to Liverpool. Them's my terms, and if you don't humor me for the present, --why, you know what to lookfor. "

"Oh, I'm agreed, " answered Dent, "I'll humor you now, and I'll humoryou in the future. I suppose we can be married before the register. You don't want no church words over yer, --do you, Bet?"

"No, not when I stand by _your side_, " said Bet, shuddering. 

"Well, I'll do yer pleasure. I'll go now, and make inquiries, and enterour names to be wed as soon as may be. Liverpool 'ull suit me a dealbetter than this dull hole of a Warrington. Goodbye, my fine ladyBet--when next we meets, it 'ull be never to part. "

He kissed the tips of his fingers to her, and could not resist a laughwhich sounded between mockery and triumph. 

As Dent turned away, Bet's attention was arrested by the girl calledJenny, who had been standing by during this colloquy, and plucked herby the sleeve. 

"Yer a rare 'un!" she said, in a tone of sincere admiration. "Don'tyou mate with him. He ain't fit for the likes of you. Break your wordwith him, --what's a lie or two?"

"I hate lies, " said Bet in a voice of scorn. "Let me be, Jenny--you'reright in what you say of Isaac Dent; but he have my promise, and Iain't one as lies, ef it's only myself I have to think on. "

"Yer a rare 'un, " repeated Jenny. She was small and squat, with abroad, freckled face, and light blue, saucer eyes. She looked up atthe handsome girl by her side with the most sincere admiration. 

"Lor! you have the courage, " she said. "I'll be proud to go a-hawkingwith you. "

Jenny's most commonplace appearance--her homely words--had a soothingeffect on Bet. 

"I'll go with you presently. Jenny, " she answered. "But now may I goto your room, and may I stay alone there--for--for--say an hour?"

Jenny's beaming face fell. In her rough, untutored heart she had alreadyconceived an affection for Bet. She would have dearly liked to sit inher very dirty attic bedroom, and gossip with her. That would havebeen nearly as good as walking through the streets of Warrington incompany with so distinguished a companion. To walk through the streets, the envied of all, with Bet by her side would have been a crowningtriumph for the poor little hawker, Jenny; but to give her up herroom, --not to see her at all for a whole hour, --was a far less agreeablematter. 

"Oh, I'll do it, " she said. "You're welcome to the room. It ain't forme to make no objections. "

She spoke summarily, and with some bitterness of spirit, but Bet wasfar too much absorbed in her own meditations to notice her. 

When Jenny finally closed the door of her apartment, and unwillinglysauntered downstairs, Bet drew Will's letter from its hiding-place. She tore it open, and her feverish bright eyes devoured the few linesit contained. These were thewords with which Will bade his sweetheartgood-bye:

"Dear Bet, --Isaac Dent will take you my farewell. I am free, and Imeans to find a berth in the first ship as leaves the docks as 'ulltake me on board. Dear Bet--I was innercent as the babe unborn--butit was Dent as cleared me. He spoke as a man, dear Bet, and I was proudto think as we was pals once on board The Albion ship when it sailedover the dancing waves. He's not a feller to let a comrade suffer, isDent. I got your letter. You was right, Bet--I couldn't a-bearprison, --it was killing me by inches. I'm wasted now almost to ashadder. Dent tells me as you'll soon be wed, and that never may Icall you wife o' mine. Bless you and him! I hasn't another word tosay. --Will Scarlett. "

Bet read this letter with some difficulty. She was, as she said, "apoor scholard, " and she had to spread out the sheet of thin paper onJenny's little bed, and laboriously spell through the words before shecould arrive at any true glimpse of their meaning. It dawned upon her, after nearly an hour's severe study, --it dawned upon her just as Jenny'simpatient tap came to the door, and her still more impatient voiceexclaimed--

"Time's hup--I'm going hawking. "

Bet felt herself turning cold and hot, as the meaning of Will's wordsseemed to scathe and burn her brain. Then, quick as a flash oflightning, another thought came to her, and she smiled, and tore theobnoxious and cruel letter into a thousand little bits. 

"That wasn't from my Will, " she said. "Dent wrote it--not Will. Mylad, --why he jest couldn't put words on paper sech as them! This isDent's villainy;--yes, Jenny, I'm a-coming, " she called out in quitea cheerful tone. 

A weight was lifted from her mind when the conviction became assuredthat this letter was none of Will's. She went downstairs, and Jennyand she, on the best of terms, commenced their life of hawking together. 

Will was free, --no doubt on that point arose to shake her confidence, --but Will's whole nature had not changed. He who possessed thetenderest and the truest heart for her in all the world had not lostit during one week in jail. Bet almost sang as she accompanied Jennythrough the Warrington streets. Will was free--freed by her act, --freedby her sacrifice; but a fortnight still stood between her and her doom. For a fortnight, therefore, she could be almost happy, and could atleast devote her time to searching for her brothers, and trying torescue them from the tender mercies of their most cruel father. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Two or three days after Will's second examination before themagistrates-an examination which had ended, owing to Dent's testimonyagainst him, in his being remanded for trial at the comingassizes-Hester Wright was standing in her little room, putting on hershawl and bonnet to go out to her usual day's work. Hester was not atall a model worker; nor had she any of the qualities which ensurecommercial success. She was clever all round; and whether it was singingher soul away, or toiling by the hour at shop needlework, or hawkingfruit and vegetables about the Liverpool streets, she did a littlebetter than anybody else; but as she would never sell her gift of song, and as her nature was in several respects, notwithstanding its realdepth and earnestness, volatile, she could never keep very long to thesame mode of earning her bread. A month or two of needlework would befollowed by a month or two of hawking: she did not earn more thanenough to keep soul and body together by either of these trades; butmoney and creature comforts were alike matters of indifference to her, and as a rule she preferred the roving life of a hawker, as it broughther more into contact with her fellow creatures. Hawking was in theascendant now, and she was hurrying out to replenish her basket at St. John's Market when a boy unceremoniously opened her door, and, thrustinga crumpled and dirty piece of paper into her hand, stood staring ather while she opened it. 

The letter was a scrawl from Will Scarlett. 

"Dear Hetty, " it ran, "I may see a friend to-day. Come to me at noon, for I am in a sore taking. --Your cousin Will. "

"All right, ain't it?" questioned the boy. 

"Yes, " replied Hester. "It's from Will. How did you come by it, Davy?"

"John Wheeler gave it to me--he's one of the jailers. He said Will wasin a sore way about his lass. "

A frown gathered on Hester's brow. "I'll go to him, " she said. "Thankyou, Davy--the letter's all right. "

The boy nodded and vanished, and Hester, taking up her basket, wentslowly downstairs. 

At twelve o'clock that day she stood by Will's side in his drearylittle cell. She was allowed to see him for a few minutes without thepresence of a third person. Will had lost somewhat of his bronze; hisface was thin and pale; and Hester, going up to him, and clasping hishands, was about to burst forth into a distressful wail at his changedappearance, when he stopped her. 

"We ha' no time, Hetty. I know just what your heart's full of, butit's all about Bet we must talk. The time's all too short, and I'mbound hand-and-foot here, and can do nought. See, Hetty-I had a letterfrom my lass. "

"I know, Will; but it ain't worth your while to fret for her. I knowshe has gived you up for that Dent fellow; and ef she, what thoughtto call you mate, can wed with one like him-why, let her, I say. I'msorry as you're pained, Will; but don't let's waste the minutes talkingabout one like Bet Granger. "

"Hush, " said Will. "You say false words, Hetty-I'm 'shamed of you. "

Will's blue eyes flashed. 

He pulled Bet's letter out of the bosom of his prison shirt, and kissedit passionately. 

"She gived me up-poor Bet did, " he said. "And that's all you thinkedon her! She thought to save me, and she took what would be as deathto one like her. I'm 'shamed of you, Hetty. I thought-I did think-thatwhen a gel did an out-and-out grand thing you'd be the first to seeit. "

Hester colored. Her eyes filled with tears. 

"It seemed to me, " she said, "as no one what loved you could take upwith one like Dent. I may be wrong--I was angered at Bet and I spokeangry. Never mind. It's you as she has wronged--ef you can forgiveher, I'll bear no malice. "

"I ha' nothing to forgive, " said Will. "Forgive? It's all t'other way. She said in her letter, --no, I don't want you to read it, as you doubtedher, but this is some o' what she said: 'I give you your freedom, Will. I ain't much, only a lass like any other lass; but freedom--that's allin all to one like you. I remember me how you spoke of the salt breezeblowing on your cheek, and you said the fresh air off the Mersey wasnought at all to the fresh air off the ocean, when you was miles andmiles away to sea. I give it back to you, dear Will. I'll be Dent'swife, for he won't set you free no other way; but there's many anotherlass, and I pray that you may wed a good wife, and forget poor Bet. 'But I'll never forget her, " said Will, who had been reading theseextracts in a choking voice, "and I say she's the noblest lass inEngland, what thinks more of her lad than of herself, and I'm proudof her for writing me like this, for she has let me see down into herheart--and it's a good heart, and strong and pure; and though she don'tsay no words about it she's the best gel in the land, and ef I gaveher up arter reading this letter I'd be the meanest cur that eversailed, and it's Davy Jones' locker as 'ud be the right place for me, and no other. I'm as innercent as a baby, Hester, and that you know, and so does my gel; and you has got now to turn round, and think onher my way, and help me to save her. "

Hester went up close to Will and took one of his hard muscular handsin hers. 

"I'll go your way, whether I think it or not, " she said. "Let thoughtsalone, this is a time for deeds. What do you want me to do, Will?"

"To find Bet, " said Will. "She mustn't wed that feller. Thank the goodGod--she can't for a few days; but time passes, and Dent may have hersafe in his clutches afore I know. You has got to find her, Hetty, andyou has got to say that William Scarlett will never give her up--thatI love her tenfold more than ever for what she thought to do for me;but ef she has promised herself ten times over to that scoundrel Dent, she must tear up them promises, and think nought of them, --for she wasmine first, and I refuse to part her. Tell her from me, Hetty, thatef they're the last words I'm ever to speak, much as I love her now, I could curse her--ay, and I would curse her--ef she was to becomewife to Dent. "

"But she can't, Will, " said Hester; "the condition was ef you was setfree. Dent did not set you free. He locked you up firmer nor ever injail, so it ain't likely as Bet, seeing as she loved you, 'ud giveherself to him when he only deceived her, and done you an injury?"

"But, a while back, " said Will, with a sad smile, "you misdoubted Bet'slove for me. I never misdoubted it, nor ever will; but I do misdoubtDent. He's a coward and a sneak, and deep is no word for him. Ef hewants Bet--and I know he wants her, for he let out as much to me--he'llmove heaven and earth to win her, and he'd think nought of deceivingher, and telling her dozens of lies. What does a girl like Bet Grangerknow of the ways of the world? She has been up and down in the slums, you say, all her life; but there's some as evil can't touch, and she'sone of them. Dent, he's full of wickedness, and he knows wicked wayshere and wicked ways in other places--so how could a gel like Bet bea match for him? She's brave as a lion. But I can't sleep o' nightsthinking how he'll deceive her. He'll let her think as I'm free, andshe'll believe him, and he'll cast up her promise to her--and she'sterrible over promises, is Bet. You must find her, Hetty, and youmustn't lose an hour, for it's near a week now since the day I wasexamined last. You must find her and take her my message. Say it anyway you like, only let her feel that I'll never, never give her up. "

"I'll find her, " said Hester. "I'll find her, and speak your words toher. Don't you fret, Will. I ain't your cousin Hetty, and the mostpopular singer in the Liverpool slums, for nought. I own I was a bitrough on Bet, and she's a proud lass, and wouldn't come nigh me ef shethought I was angered, or took her the wrong way. Maybe I judged herwrong--maybe I didn't--we won't go into that. When I meets her nowI'll promise to be gentle, and I'll keep her for you, cousin, ef sucha thing's possible, and I'll save her from that scoundrel, ef such athing's possible. You trust her to me. But now, one word about yourself, Will. You has been done a bitter wrong, and you don't look spry--no, you don't look spry. "

"It was Dent, " said Will. "I see it all now. It was a scheme of histo win my gel from me. I don't suppose as I'll be acquitted, Hetty, and they say as I'll have two year. Well, I ain't the first innercentman as has been done by a rogue; no, nor the last neither. You tellBet to keep up heart, for, even if it is two year, I'll come to herat the end, and we'll be none the worse, seeing that we know each otherand love each other as we do. Good-bye, Hetty--I hear the wardercoming. That bit of a verse you sang keeps running in my head, and itsoothes me wonderful when I get most mad, like. You remember it--'Oh, rest in the Lord, wait patiently for Him!'"

"And He will give thee thy heart's desire, " said Hester. Her eyes litup, and she half sang, half chanted the words. 

"Seems as if He might. " she said. "Not as I holds with no goodness;but them words, they fasten on to me, and I can't rid myself neitherof them or of their meaning. Good-bye, Will. I'll do my best, not onlyfor Bet, but to set you free again. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

When Hester left the jail she went straight to Sparrow Street. Sheknew that Bet had gone back there, and felt pretty certain either thatshe would see the girl herself or be able to leave a message for herwith one of the other lodgers. She climbed the three pair of stairs, and knocked at the door of Bet's room. A voice, not Bet's, invited herin, and she found herself in a cloud of tobacco-smoke, and in thepresence of both Granger and Dent, who were lounging one on each sideof the fire, smoking very coarse tobacco, and imbibing beer from agreat jug which stood on a little deal table between them. 

Both men started, and removed their pipes from their mouth, when Hesterentered. 

"Well, Hetty, what's your pleasure?" asked Granger, in a would-befacetious tone. "Going, Dent?" For the younger man had risen to hisfeet and was preparing to leave the room. 

"Yes, I may as well see to that matter by the docks, " mumbled Dent, as he made for the door. Hester stepped between it and him. 

"A word with you first, Isaac, " she said, in that rich, peculiar voiceof hers. "I want to speak with Bet--where is she?"

Hester laid her hand on the man's shoulder. 

"Where's the girl, Elizabeth Granger, Isaac Bent?" she said. "Tell methat much, and then you can go. "

Dent laughed disagreeably. 

"Hands off, Hetty, " he said. "Bless yer! What do _I_ know of ElizabethGranger? Ask her father--he's there--the girl ain't nought to me. Standaway from the door, Hetty Wright--I'm in no end of a hurry. "

"So am I, and so is Will, " said Hetty, without budging an inch. " Wewant Bet--we want the gel what you, Isaac Dent, has stolen away. Shewas Will's--she was his promised wife, and the good words 'most readover them, and they was very nearly wed. You stepped atween them, andstole her from Will. You're a thief out and out, --you take away a man'scharacter from him, and you part him from his lass as well as stealingbank-notes and sealskin purses from ladies. Oh--I know you! And I'drather be Will, lying in prison this minute, than I'd be you. Yes, youcan go now, for I ha' said my say, and I'd never get the truth out ofyou ef I was to wait here forever But I'll find Bet, and she shan'tbe your wife if I can help it. I ain't a singer for nothing; I ain'tthe most popular singer in the slums for nought. So you needn't defyme; for if I like I can make matters hot for you. "

Hester had not only now moved away from the door, but she had flungit open, and Dent, muttering much, with his face white, and a veryhangdog expression on it, slunk down the stairs. He said to himself:"There ain't no use in life bandying words with her; and it's truewhat she says--there ain't a man or woman in Liverpool what wouldn'tdo her bidding. "

When Dent was gone Hester went up to Granger, and, altering her tactics, began to ask him what he knew about Bet. The man was looking up at herin dull surprise, and with an expression of heavy, open-mouthedadmiration. 

"You did tackle him, Het, " he said. "My word!--you has a way with you, lass. "

"Let me use it on you, then, Mr. Granger, " said Hetty. "I want Bet--where be she?"

"What will you give me ef I tell you?"

"I haven't much to give. I can sing to yer--tell me, and I'll give youthe bonniest song--one that no bird in springtime could beat. "

"Ay, ay, lass, " said Granger. "You know your power, and how you canwheedle anything out of a fellow; but the fact is I don't know whereBet is hiding; and if I did the secret is Dent's, not mine. But Idon't--so there. What's the matter, Hester?--what are you staringat?--oh, that child--you let him alone, he's asleep, that child is. I popped him into bed, and he's asleep. You let him be, Hester Wright. "

"I will, when I've looked at him, " said Hester. 

She moved over to the bed, on which a forlorn little figure lay prone. A white cheek pressed the pillow, and two big blue eyes looked upimploringly at Hester. 

"Why, it's the cap'n!" said the singer, bending over the boy, andpushing the bright reddish hair off his forehead. "What are you doing, laddie?--and where's your brother?"

The captain's eyes said unutterable things, but his lips did not move--Granger as well as Hester was watching his face. 

"He's resting--can't yer see it?" said the man. "You let him go backto his sleep. His brother?--oh, he's out larking in the street. "

A curious look came over Hester's face. Her manner completely altered. Stooping again, she pressed a very light kiss on the boy's white coldbrow. 

"Go to sleep, lad, " she said. 

Then she turned to Granger. 

"I won't trouble you to tell me about Bet, " she said, in her mostconciliatory tones. "Ef it's Dent's secret, I know as you ain't toblame. There's many a hard thing said about a person what hasn't aword of truth in it. I believe you're a right good man, Mr. Granger. Well, I must go off, for I'd like to get news of Bet, but ef you likeI'll come back to-night and sing to you. "

"Will you?" said Granger, eagerly. "There's nothing like a song, andsomehow, your voice goes through a feller. I'll collect a few neighbors, and we'll have a bit of supper and a fine time. What hour'll you come, Hetty?"

"When the clock's gone seven, " said Hester. 

"I mightn't be in then, --I sometimes gets an odd job, and I may to-night, down by the docks; but I'll leave the room-door on the latch, and you can come in when you please. The boy? Oh, he's well enough. You won't mind hearing Hetty sing, will you, cap'n?"

Again the blue eyes looked up piteously, but the little white lipswere silent. Hester nodded, and smiled brightly at Granger. 

"I'll look in as soon as I can, " she repeated. "You leave the door onthe latch. "

Then she tripped downstairs; she had not even glanced again in thedirection of the little captain. 

"Now to see Mother Bunch, " said Hester to herself. "There's no doubtas my hands 'ull be full for the next few days; but I think I see away of getting the better of Dent, and of Granger too, --see ef Idon't--oh! that poor child--that poor, poor child!"

At the corner of the street, leaning half tipsily against the wall, stood the old hag to whom Hester had once given twopence. Her eyesbrightened when she saw who was walking down the street. 

"God bless yer, Hetty Wright!" she mumbled. 

Hester was accustomed to many such exclamations; they always had apower over her, and brought a light into her eyes. She stopped now infront of the old woman. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Flannigan. These are hard times with you, I fear. "

"So they be, dearie--so they be. I haven't taken sixpence this blessedday, and 'tis bitter cold standing about, and with not much chance ofa shelter before yon for the night. "

"I have thought of something, " said Hester. "I'll be very busy for thenext few days, and I'd like to have my hands free. Will you carry roundmy basket for me, mother? I'll go to the market and get it filled foryou every morning, and you'll give me the change at night. You shallhave a third of what you earns. One-third goes for stock--one to me, one to you. It's better nor nought; and ef you say an' it's HesterWright's basket, folks 'ull buy, for they know as my cresses and orangesain't to be beat in Liverpool. "

The old woman's eyes absolutely danced as Hester made her this offer. 

"And I won't cheat you of a farthing, darling, " she exclaimed. "Oh, but it's you as is the blessing of God to me!"

"Come home with me, then, " said Hester. "The basket is in my room, andthe things unsold, --come at once, for I'm in a rare bit of a hurry. "

Having disposed of old Mrs. Flannigan, and in this manner secured forherself as well as for the dame a means of livelihood for the next fewdays, Hester started off for Paradise Row. It was a fact that therewas not a more dishonest nor evil-minded old woman in Liverpool thanthis same Mrs. Flannigan; but Hester was firmly convinced that shewould be true to her word, and not rob her of a farthing, and thisproved to be the case. 

As usual Mother Bunch was bending over her wash-tub. Her broad backwas turned to Hester as she entered the little room. Even in ParadiseRow the singer was not quite unknown, and Mother Bunch gave her awelcoming word. Hester soon poured out her story, which was receivedwith many exclamations, and such growing and deepening interest thatthe wash-tub was forgotten and the Irishwoman stood with her armsa-kimbo, fairly panting with indignation and excitement. 

"Oh, the villains!--oh, the black-hearted creatures!" she exclaimedonce or twice. "Right you are, Hetty, --you have got Mother Bunch onyour side, and I have got an ahrum--see, honey, --I'll do whatever youbids me, darlint, --but I'll save Bet and the poor children. "

"Listen, then, Mother Bunch, " said Hester. "You tell me that Bet hasleft Liverpool. Can you not try and remember where she said she wasgoing?"

"She didn't tell me, dear. She didn't let out nought. Only it worn'tfar away. Too far to walk, honey, and the train was to take the poorchild. Some miles off--maybe fifteen--maybe a score; but railly I can'tremember. I ain't good at mintal 'rithmetic, darlint. "

"Never mind about that now, " said Hester; "we have to think of thecap'n first, and of how to outwit Dent. Now, listen. I have got anidea in the back of my head. "

Here Hester began to talk in a very low voice, and Mother Bunchlistened, nodding vehement approval, chuckling audibly once or twice, grinning broadly at other times, and throwing out several practicaland shrewd suggestions of her own. Before Hester left Paradise Row thetwo had come to a complete understanding. 

"I'll have his poor sisther's room as snug as snug for him, " saidMother Bunch, in conclusion. "Oh, he'll be safe there. You trust methat-he'll be safe there!"

"And I'll sit up with him to-night, " said Hester. "Well--all right, Mrs. O'Flaherty, I'll meet you at a quarter to seven at the corner ofSparrow Street. "

There are times when it is dreadful to be quite alone--when the headreels, and the floor seems to sink down beneath one, and the solidearth seems no longer firm and supporting. And when one is very young, and, although the battle of life has gone hard, the years that havepassed over our heads are only a few, and we feel that we ought to bepetted and loved, and made much of, and held tenderly in our mother'sarms, with that tired, weary, drooping little head resting on herbreast, --then the loneliness is very hard to bear, and the bravechild-heart cries in terror, and wonders if God no longer sufferslittle children to come to Him. 

The captain was very weak and ill. He had gone through a cruel time, --he did not want to think of it, --he was lying all alone in bed, quitealone, with a few flickering shadows from the dying fire reflectinga light on the walls, and making grim shadows, too, which frightenedhim so much that he liked best to lie with his eyes shut. 

His father would come back presently, --it was far worse to have hisfather there than to lie alone in the dark--only, why did his headfeel so queer, and why were his hands so feeble? He did not think hecould punch anyone now; and as to being victor in a fight, why--evenDan Davis, the weakest boy of his acquaintance, and one for whom hehad the greatest contempt, would have been a match for him. 

Still, it was very dull being alone, and the room seemed to grow darker, and his head lighter. He was thirsty, but there was nothing to drink. Where was Bet? Where was the general? He opened his little lips tocall these friendly and protecting names, but no audible sound wouldcome from them. 

Oh, what was the matter? He was really frightened now--even his father'spresence would have been better than nothing. Who and what was that?There was a noise on the stairs--the room door opened, and the largeface and solid tub-like form of Mother Bunch seemed suddenly to fillthe whole apartment. The poor little captain found sudden vent for oneweak cry of rapture, then he fainted away. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The captain was very ill, but he was no longer uncared for. In theattic which Bet had rendered clean and sweet, he lay and tossed on hishard and feverish bed. His weakness and prostration were difficult toaccount for; he could give no coherent account of himself, only, asthe fever left him false strength, he murmured his brother's namecontinually, telling him to hide, to run fast, and promising to overtakehim as soon as possible. Once or twice he screamed piteously, as thoughhe were again feeling the hard strokes of a cruel hand. The doctorcame to see him, and ordered lots of nourishment, and spoke gravelyof the boy's state. 

"Why is not his sister with him?" the medical man said; for he knewBet, and had often remarked her kindness and tenderness to her youngbrothers. 

In the absence of Bet, however, the captain was not neglected, MotherBunch taking care of him by day, and at all times when Hester Wrightwas obliged to be absent. There were no traces anywhere of the poorlittle general. It is true he might still be at Sparrow Street, butHester thought it wiser for many reasons not to venture there just now. 

If Granger was in a taking about the kidnapping of his little son, hecertainly showed no symptoms of invading Mother Bunch's premises onhis behalf; and it was thought best for the captain's sake to do nothingto rouse his father's ire at present. 

"We'll have him by-and-bye--he shall feel this ahrum yet, " said MotherBunch. "But now you and me has got to pull this child through, HettyWright. It do seem to me that he's 'most took for death, but we'llpull him through by the help of God Almighty. "

This was no easy matter; for the little life seemed to be ebbing furtherand further away from this world's shores, and often it seemed toHester that the unconscious child scarcely breathed. 

"I wouldn't like Bet to come back, and not see the little chap, " shereplied once to Mother Bunch, who was gazing at him with a very dubiouslook on her face. "Ef there ever was a good sister, Bet's the one; andI wouldn't like her to come here and see no captain--and, for thatmatter, no general neither. "

"We'll pull him through, " said Mother Bunch. "Even if he is took fordeath--we'll pull him through. "

She always said this, although her tones of late had grown lessconfident. 

On this occasion she took Hester's place by the sick child; and Hettybeing at liberty wrapped her cloak about her, and went out. 

The small captain was lying at death's door; but there were otherthings to be considered, and Hester Wright's brain was full of a daringproject just then. 

Mrs. Flannigan was doing very well with Hetty's basket; so she was atliberty to use her own time as she thought fit, and as the old womanwould scorn to rob the singer, her pockets were not quite empty. Itwas the middle of the day--dull and cloudy, a slight drizzling mistfalling now and then. 

Hester stepped into one of the tramcars, and after a ride of abouthalf-an-hour found herself in a pretty suburb of the great city. Shewas going to see Sister Mary Vallence, and sincerely hoped that shemight find her at home. Her errand was important, and the whole successof the scheme which she was forming in her mind would depend on thisyoung lady's co-operation. 

Sister Mary was fairly popular amongst the people for whom she worked. She was a brave, fearless, high-minded girl, never leaving a stoneunturned to help others, and influencing many people by the power ofa great love. She was at home, and Hetty Wright was at once admittedinto her presence. Hetty had never before come in contact with MissVallence. Popular as she was in the slums, her rather remarkable faceand her great gift of song were both unknown to the young lady. Thefact, however, of Hester wearing a poor gown, and one look into herrather worn and pathetic face, ensured her a kindly and interestedgreeting. Sister Mary asked Hester to seat herself, and then sat quietlydown, with that look of leisure on her face which always gives assuranceto the teller of a story. Sister Mary did a great deal in her life, but she was never in a hurry; and this fact weighed now with Hestergiving her confidence, and causing her heart to beat quietly. 

"I ha' come to trouble you with a sad tale, madam, " she began. 

"I am sorry--will you call me sister, please, " responded the younglady. 

"Bet Granger has told me of yer, " continued Hester. "You were good toher poor mother. "

"Certainly, I had a great regard for Mrs. Granger, --she was good. Iknow she was difficult to understand, but she was a woman with a greatfaith. I have often been sorry for her daughter; how is she now?"

"Lost, ma'am--lost, as far as we know--we can't get word nor trace ofher. She's not in Liverpool, and I don't know where she be. I fear meshe's in the clutches of a bad man, and I ha' come to you to-day, Sister Mary, to ask you to help me to save her. Listen. I can tell ina few words her story, since the night as her mother died. "

Hester's great gift was song, but even her speaking voice was refined, pathetic, and with some uncommon notes in it, which always exerciseda certain influence over those who listened to her. She told of Betand Will, of their love and their despair; and the sad tale certainlylost nothing by her manner of telling it. Sister Mary no longer satstill; she rose to her feet, clasping and unclasping her white hands, her lips opening, as if she must arrest the speaker's words--as if shemust pour forth some of the pent-up feeling which the story had aroused. 

"Then you believe, " she said at last, "you firmly believe, that theman, the sailor with the blue eyes, whose face haunts me still, isinnocent?--that he never stole my purse--that he is lying in prisonnow under a false charge? Oh, how glad I am! It seemed to shake myvery faith to have to believe that a man with a face like that wasreally guilty. "

"He is innocent, sister. Will Scarlett told a true story. Dent gavehim the notes because he wanted to get rid of them, and because hewanted to win Bet for himself. Isaac Dent is the thief, sister; mycousin Will is innocent. "

"But if you knew this, Hester Wright--if you were certain on thispoint, " answered Miss Vallence, "why did you not come to thepolice-court the other day, and clear the sailor? Oh, I think it wascruel of you to stay away. "

"What's _my_ word, lady? I know it, but I can't prove it. The facts areall agin' Will--he's in the House of Detention now, and he says he'ssafe to get two year. "

"Two years' imprisonment, when another man did the deed!"

"Yes, sister--he says he's quite sure. "

"But this is dreadful! I will speak to my father--you must tell yourstory to my father. "

"That'ull do no good, lady. Facts go agin' Will, and there's only oneway of clearing him. "

"Oh, is there a way? How glad I am! You are a brave girl, Hester. Tellme at once about the way. "

"I can't tell you much, Miss Vallence, but I ha' come here to-day--Iha' come to say--yes, to say that we can't never clear Will, and thata plan I have got in my head can't be carried through without you, "

"Without me? Yes; I will certainly help--tell me what I can do. "

"I can't lady--not yet-the time ain't ripe yet; but ef you'll trusta lass like me, and give a promise, then I can carry out my plan. Andef it succeeds Will will be cleared, and Bet won't be tied for lifeto a villain; and a bad man--perhaps two bad men--'ull meet what theydeserve. Oh, " continued Hester, "I never said as I believed in God--Inever went in for being a good 'un in any sense; but I think I dobelieve in Him now--I think I do. Trust, and He will bring it to pass. Lady, " here Hester resumed her usual manner, "I ha' come to ask youto give me a promise in the dark. "

"That is a difficult thing to give, " replied Miss Vallence, slowly. "I am most desirous of helping you--I may say further, that I certainly_will_ help you to the best of my ability; but a promise in the darkseems scarcely right--why do you ask it of me?"

"Because you can help me in no other way, Miss Vallence. It's just aquestion of trusting a lass you ha' never seen afore. No harm shallhappen to you--not a hair of your head shall be touched, but you mustgo blindly with me, --in the dark--that's it; there's no other way. "

"You're a strange creature" said Miss Vallence. "You move me, youexcite me. In spite of myself, I cannot help believing in you. I maybe wrong, but for once I will be guided by the queer influence youhave over me--by the something within which compels me to trust you. Hester Wright, I will promise to do what you want. "

Hester's earnest dark eyes filled with tears. 

"You ha' taken a load off me, " she said. "There is a good God--for Hemade you. The lad has a chance now, and Bet has a chance; and perhapsthe little 'un may get well arter all. Oh! every thing may come rightarter all, and it 'ull be owing to you, just because you weren't afeard, and trusted a lass you had never seen. Miss Vallence, it won't beto-night, nor to-morrow night--but the night arter--some time the nightarter--I'll come here, and then I'll ask you to go with me. You needn'tbe afeard; no one in all Liverpool will be safer nor you; but you'llbe coming with me in the dark. A brave lady! Eh! I used to think asladies had no real sperrit, but I'll never think so no more!"

"I'll be ready for you, Hester, " said Sister Mary, in her gravestvoice. "The night after next--at what hour will you call for me, Hester?"

"Sister, I may not come at all, and I can't name the hour--it may beany time atween eight o'clock and midnight. I may fail--only I don'tthink so. "

"You will not fail, " said Miss Vallence. "I will be ready. "

They clasped each other's hands and parted. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

If ever a girl ought to feel happy it should be on the eve of herwedding-day. To a great many, however, this turning-point in life, this step into a new and unknown world, is fraught with terror anddistress. Wedding bells do not always mean happiness. 

Bet Granger was sitting alone in Jenny's attic. She was to be marriedbefore the registrar to-morrow to Isaac Dent. He had made allarrangements, and had come over from Liverpool that day to see hispromised bride. He had spent half an hour with Bet--had told her whenand where to meet him the next morning, and then had gone back to hisold haunts, a victorious and satisfied man. 

When he left her, Bet had gone up to the attic, and had sat there eversince without moving or speaking. Her hands were clasped loosely inher lap, and her dull and heavy eyes were fixed on the fire. Jenny, finding her poor company, had gone out, and Bet was quite alone. Shewas to be a bride to-morrow, --Isaac Dent's bride. Her heart beatslowly and calmly; there was nothing more now to hope for; she wouldkeep her promise, and she would try to endure the life which stretchedbefore her. After all, the mate of a sailor had some advantages, --shecould often be parted from her lord; he could go away on longvoyages, --he could be, he would be, he must be, months away from home;and during that time the very winds that blew, the very breezes thatfanned her cheeks, would help to divide them--would help to show herhow many miles stretched between her and him. 

Yes; the thought of the coming separation, of the certain and inevitableseparation, cheered Bet, and made her feel that her lot was endurable. 

She was to be a bride to-morrow! How strange! She felt accustomed nowto the idea of being almost a bride. It was only a few weeks back thatshe sat in another attic waiting for the dawn of another wedding-day, and the embrace of another bridegroom. She had not been happy then, --shehad been full of fear and apprehension; but the heart now so queer, and dull and heavy, had beat fast, and the eyes had been bright withintense excitement, and in her restless dread and earnest longing shehad paced the floor of Mother Bunch's attic until the very dawn. Thenshe had been unhappy, but she had been alive. Now, what had come overher? Had the spirit of the real Bet Granger gone away with Will overthe dancing sea? Had it refused to be parted from her true lover, andwas Isaac Dent only marrying a dead woman?

During the fortnight that Bet had spent at Warrington she had searchedhigh and low for her father and the boys. Of course, she had searchedin vain. It was quite possible for a clever man like Dent to furnishher with endless clues which all led to nothing. His object was togive her a reason for remaining in Warrington--his object was to keepher at any hazard out of Liverpool. He knew that in Liverpool theknowledge of his treachery towards Will could not long be concealedfrom her. She would meet Hester Wright--she would meet one friend oranother who would certainly tell her that the lad for whom she hadsold herself was still in prison. 

After they were married--oh! then it mattered nothing at all. Then histriumph would be all the greater when the bad man showed her that, although she was his absolutely, she had done nothing for Will by herdeed of self-sacrifice. 

Jenny had been a good friend to Bet during the last fortnight. Sheknew Dent, but did not admire him; and it was an unceasing puzzle toher how any promise could bind Bet to such a man. 

"You'll be his forever, " she said. "Well, I wouldn't have him--not forno price. I wouldn't be his wife, not if you was to pay me for it. Andthe other lad, he'll come back from sea, and he won't like to see youIsaac's wife. It's a wrong promise you ha' made, Bet Granger; and youneedn't go for to tell me nothing else. If I was you, I wouldn't keepit. Don't 'ee, now, Bet--don't 'ee. Think of the other poor sailorfeller--how he'll look at yer when he comes back from sea!"

At first, when Jenny spoke like this, Bet had shut her up with a fewsharp words, but of late she had taken no notice; her face every dayhad grown duller, and her words further apart. Her whole attitude wasso dull and lifeless that Jenny gave up teasing her; and finding that, from being an entertaining companion, she was now one of the dullest, left her a good deal to herself. 

Bet sat on in the attic, and presently the fire went out, and only themoonlight lit up her little dreary room. Bet closed her eyes, and fellinto a heavy doze; she slept for about ten minutes, and, whether thatsleep had refreshed her, and lifted a cloud from her brain, no one cansay, but she awoke in quite a different mood: the apathy andindifference of the last few days had left her; she was once morekeenly alive, keenly suffering and rebellious. 

The events of the two last months--all the story which had come to hersince her mother's death-kept flitting like a series of pictures beforeher vivid imagination. She saw Will's face with a tender light in theeyes; she felt his breath on her cheek, and her hand seemed again tobe clasped in his. Once more she heard Hester and Will singingtogether--

 "I had a message to send her- To be whom my soul loved best, But I had my task to finish, And she had gone home to rest. "

Bet saw once more the little room in Sparrow Street, and the smile, the look so full of satisfaction, on her dead mother's face. 

"Oh, mother, mother!" she sobbed. 

She fell on her knees, and the tears streamed through the fingers whichcovered her face. "Oh mother! life ha' gone hard--bitter, bitterhard--for poor Bet. I ha' broke my word to you--and the lads, I dunnowhere they are. Oh, I'm good for nought--I'm good for nought--I wishI were lying dead beside my mother!"

She sobbed and sobbed; and her tears, while they seemed to rend herheart, brough a certain sense of lightness and relief. 

"Mother, you was a good woman-you believed in religion and all that. I didn't. I were allers a hard 'un--allers, and allers; but I'd givethe world, --mother, mother, hear me, hear me, ef you can, up in heavenwith God!--I'd give all the wide world to be _good_, GOOD, to-night!"

Again Bet seemed to hear Will and Hester singing to her--

 "And I know that at last my message Has passed through the golden gate, And my heart is no longer restless, And I am content to wait. "

She rose to her feet. Her tears were over, her great grief waslightened, but now a curious and inexplicable desire took possessionof her. She would not fail Isaac Dent. If she had broken every otherpromise she would at least keep this one. She would marry him tomorrow, and perhaps her mother's God would help her to be a good wife to him. But she would--she must--go to Liverpool tonight. She had money enoughin her pocket to take her there; she looked at the coins, going closeto the window to see them the better in the moonlight, and saw thatshe had sufficient to purchase a single third-class fare. How was sheto get back to Warrington in the morning? How was she to meet Dent atthe registrar's office? She did not know; she felt also that she didnot care. Already her marriage with Dent seemed to be removed into adim and intangible future. She would marry him, --oh, yes--but when andhow she did not know, she did not care. She could scarcely bring herthoughts to bear on the great and terrible subject which an hour agohad filled her whole horizon. Liverpool, the great city, was drawingher, as though it was the voice of Will himself. She rose, brushed outher hair, plaited it, and wound it in a great coronet round herbeautiful head, washed her face and hands, wrapped her mother's shawltidily round her, and ran downstairs. 

At the door she met Jenny. 

"Good-bye, dear, " she said in a gentle tone. And she stooped and kissedthe little round-faced girl. 

"Why, Bet, are you mad?" said Jenny. "Where are you going? How spryyou look! And your eyes are so bright! Oh, Bet, Bet! have you come toyour senses? Are you going to break your promise to Dent?"

"It is not that, " said Bet. "I'll be here tomorrow morn. I won't failIsaac. I'll see you again to-morrow morning, Jenny, but I must go toLiverpool to-night. My heart draws me--I must go. Good-bye, Jenny--good-bye, dear. "

Jenny looked after the tall, stately figure. 

"Well, this _is_ a rum go, " she muttered. "And ef she don't hurryshe'll be late. The last train goes at eight o'clock--she'll lose itef she don't run. "

But Bet did not lose the train. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Isaac Dent did indeed feel himself a triumphant man. If such a natureas his could possibly know anything of love, he had something whichhe called by that name for the handsome girl whom he had deceived, andwhose happiness he had wrecked. His powers of loving, however, mighthave been described as uncertain, dubious, and absolutely unworthy ofso high and sacred a name. But there was no doubt at all with regardto his powers of revenge, or as to his cunning and double dealing. 

It was the night before his wedding; and the prize--the choice, rich, great prize of the bravest and most beautiful girl in the city--wasalmost his. Will was safe in prison; Bet was safe at Warrington. Oneweek of happiness with her, and then he would secure for himself agood berth on board a prosperous ship, and sail away, the luckiestfellow in the land. 

If Dent had a conscience at all, it was a very dull one, and itcertainly gave him no trouble some qualms that night. He still possessedseven or eight pounds of the stolen money, and he intended to have aright good time with Bet--to spend his ill-gotten wealth freely, andto enjoy himself in a thorough manner for once in his life. He hadbeen to Warrington and made all final arrangements; and now, aboutnine o'clock in the evening, he left his lodgings to fulfill anappointment he had made with Granger, who was to meet him and was tohave a good time with him at the Star and Garter. 

Dent's lodgings were close to the docks; and to go from there toGranger's place in Sparrow Street he generally walked up a very narrowand very disreputable street. He could have gone around, going alongCastle Street and down by Lime Street; but the other way was a greatshort cut: and to meet low people, to hear the voices of tipsy men andloud-voiced women gave him no manner of annoyance. At the time of thisstory there were some courts in Liverpool which at night-time wereabsolutely in the dark. Not a single ray of gaslight illuminated them. The doers of evil liked such places; and the courts at nightfall wereoften full, and sounds the reverse of edifying were apt to proceedfrom them. 

David Street, the short cut which Dent was about to take to keep hisrendezvous with Granger, possessed several such courts. It was not farfrom the Irish quarter, where Mother Bunch held undoubted sway. DavidStreet was not quite so much dreaded as Paradise Bow; but, on accountof these same dark courts, few respectable people would care to walkthere after nightfall. Dent, however, could scarcely be reckoned amongstthis class, and he stepped quickly now through the na'rrow street withits flickering gaslight reflecting a sombre glow on the puddles at hisfeet, and on the faces of the ragged children and men and women whojostled past him. The only bright places were the public-houses, wherethe hungriest and most despairing paused to look in and long for thebrightness and warmth inside. Those who had pence in their pocketsgenerally entered through the swinging doors; those who had not, lookedin with growing envy and increasing despair on their faces. 

Dent was by no means a sober person, and more than one public-housein David Street knew him well; but he was bound now for the more selectStar and Garter, and did not pause before any of the swing-doors. Thegas-lamps in David Street were few and far between, and Dent presentlycame to a part of the street which evidently remained after nightfallin a state bordering on darkness. He planted his foot in a puddle; henearly slipped on a piece of orange-peel, and found himself swearingunder his breath. The next moment, out on the still night air, floateda heavenly sound. It was a woman's voice, singing a rollicking sailor-song. Pure and limpid rose the notes--the air was very taking. Therewas a chorus to the song, in which many voices joined vigorously. Between the choruses came the single, sweet, captivating voice. Dentstood still. All these sounds came from one of the dark courts. He hada passion for music--he could sing a little himself; he found himselfinstinctively beating time with his foot, and adjoining in the choruswith his voice. He stood motionless. Instantly one or two otherwayfarers did likewise. Dent became the nucleus of a little crowd--each passer-by added to it, all attracted by the voice which rose andfell, accompanied now and then by the rough choruses, but more oftensinging alone. 

The crowd outside began to push towards the entrance of the court, andDent went with them. 

Just inside the court stood a broad-faced, burly-looking woman, holdinga lantern in her hand. She flashed its light on each new-comer, andDent felt dazzled for a moment with the strong glare which was turnedupon his face. He thought he heard a chuckle--he was certainly pushedfar into the court. The singing ceased, --a voice said: "Now! now, Hetty, --yes, it's all right, Hetty. " He turned to go away; but, inwhat seemed less than an instant, his hands were tied behind him, hismouth gagged, and he was borne aloft in the arms of several people, who began to run with him, he did not know where. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

When Bet got to Liverpool she went straight to Paradise Row. Sheintended to spend the night with Mother Bunch, to borrow a little moneyfrom her, and to return to Warrington by an early train in the morning. It was about half-past nine when she reached the Irishwoman's house. There was considerable noise and merriment going on within, and Betheard the scraping of a fiddle, the air of an Irish jig, and the tap-tapof feet as they danced on the floor. She paused, with a sense of dismaystealing over her. Her nerves were highly-strung--she was in anexcited, exalted state, and the loud mirth was particularly uncongenial. She wondered if she could slip upstairs unperceived--she wondered ifher old attic were still unoccupied. The door of Mother Bunch's roomwas wide open--bright light streamed into the passage; but Bet makinga dart rushed past the door, and went up the dark, broken, dangerousstairs. She reached the old attic, and then started back with anexpression of dismay. It was undoubtedly occupied. A candle burned ina shaded corner; a clean bright little fire shone in the grate; atable, with a cloth on it, held medicine, and a glass; and on the bedwhere Bet herself used to lie slept a child. She was turning away, with a cold feeling round her heart--she had always fancied, doubtlesswithout any reason, that Mother Bunch would keep the little atticvacant for her. She crouched down on the landing, waiting until themerriment should cease downstairs before she sought Mother Bunch. 

Presently she heard the sleeping child stir restlessly, and moan ina very feeble manner. This sound smote on her heart. 

"Whoever have the charge of that poor lamb don't set much store byit, " she commented. "I'll go in and speak soft to the child. Dearheart, what a feeble moan--it might a'most be a baby. "

She took off her heavy shoes, and crept back into the room. The outlineof the form in the bed was not that of a very little child. 

"About the age of the captain or the general?" murmured Bet. "I mustbe careful if the young 'un's weak not to startle the poor lamb. "

She stirred the fire very gently, and seeing a little sauce-pan withsomething simmering in it on the hob, tasted it, and found it wasbeef-tea. She poured a little into a cracked tea-cup, and when thechild moaned again--and this moan was even fainter than the last--wentup to the bed, determined to act the part of the absent mother, whowas so shamefully neglecting her sick child. 

"Here, honey, take a sip, " she said, and she put her strong firm armunder the restless little head. The small face was in shadow. Betraised the head higher. "Drink, dearie, " she said again. There was apause. Bet's own face could be seen--Bet's own face could be recognized. 

"Bet--Bet!" said the captain--"oh, Bet--I did ax God to bring you backto me!"

CHAPTER XXXII. 

When Bet Granger ran past the open doorway of Mother Bunch's room shehad very little idea that in a corner of that room, tied firmly intoa chair, sat her bridegroom of to-morrow--Isaac Dent. 

The gag had been removed from his mouth, but his hands were stillfirmly pinioned, and he was so securely strapped into the chair whichheld him that he could scarcely move a limb. Under these circumstancesDent did not show to advantage. There was none of that consciousinnocence which gives to other men a certain nobility in the hour oftrial. On the contrary, his face was blanched with the most unmistakablefear, and his restless shifting eyes looked no one member of the motleygroup who surrounded him full in the face. 

To all appearance, however, these people did jot take the smallestnotice of Dent. They left him in his corner, and eagerly pursued theirown gay revelries, deaf to the sound of the piteous voice which heraised now and then. Patrick O'Flaherty, Mother Bunch's husband, playedthe fiddle with much spirit, but Mother Bunch herself was the realmistress of the ceremonies, footing it bravely in the jig, and lettingher voice peal forth in such enthusiastic Irish songs as "The Shamrock, ""Garryowen, " "Saint Patrick's Day, " and the like. 

Hester Wright alone stood grave and silent at a little distance fromDent, She was impatient of the mirth, and there was a troubled, anxiouslook on her face. She did not join in any of the songs, and at last, going up to Mother Bunch, she said a few words in her ear. 

"Right you are, child, " replied the Irishwoman. "Frinds--we'll now, if you plaze, stop these tokens of mirth and victory, and attend tothe business of the evening. "

Instantly the fiddle ceased; the footsteps became motionless; thevoices died into silence; and a little group of about twenty peopleformed a semicircle round Dent. Mother Bunch, who was in the centreof this group, stepped forward a pace or two. Her brawny arm was bareto the elbow. She raised it now with a slightly significant gesture. 

"Child, " she said, addressing the prisoner--for surely as such Denthad to consider himself now--"I ax you a plain question, and I ax itin the name of the frinds of love and order here assembled. Will youconfess yourself a guilty man, and own to the maneness of your naturein concocting a plot to ruin the innocent boy, Will Scarlett? or willye keep your lips shut, and feel the power of this right ahrum?" "You'reall a set o' cowards, " burst from Dent. "Let me go free, this minute--I'll have the law of you--I had nothing to say to Scarlett'simprisonment. "

"Yes, you had, child; and there's no use in your going for to denyit. You stole the notes and the gold, and the purty bit of a purse, and you put the blame on Will, 'cause you wanted to get scot-freeyourself, and you wanted to take his gurl from him. You're a bad boy, Isaac Dent, and you desarves the least taste in life of the rod. Comealong, neighbors, hould him, and do your dooty. "

Dent began to scream abjectly, and at this juncture Hester Wrightstepped to the front. 

"Isaac, " she said, in her deep, grave voice, "you have got to submit. We plotted this, I and these good Irish friends of mine. I don't meanthat Will Scarlett shall lie in prison for your good pleasure. I don'tmean that his good lass shall give herself to you. We plotted this, and we means to see it through. You're a bad man. Isaac, and youdeceived Bet, and pretended to set Will free, when you know that helies still in prison. Bet would have married you, I don't know howsoon, --perhaps to-morrow--perhaps the next day, --but now she shallnever wed you, Isaac; for here you stay--here you stay, year in, yearout, until you confesses the truth. "

"Yes--here you stay, " repeated the Irish voices in full chorus, andthe women began to laugh, and the men to chuckle audibly, "You don't mean it, " said Dent. His white face grew several shadesmore chalky. 

"Yes, " continued Hester, "we do mean it. You have managed to escapethe law, Dent, and you managed to put the best man in Liverpool underits ban. But we've made a law ourselves, and we'll carry it out onyou. Here you stays until you confesses the truth about Will. It ain'tno good for you to make a fuss, for the police they doesn't often walkdown Paradise Row. Mother Bunch is the only policeman as has much powerhere. You had better submit, Isaac, for you ha' got no loophole to actcontrarywise. "

"And ef you felt this right ahrum, child, you mightn't like to feelit a second time, " burst in Mother Bunch, as she brandished thispowerful member in Dent's face. 

"What am I to do?" he exclaimed. "I can't stay on here--I--I--justcan't. You ha' got me in your power. You'll rue it some day. Er I saywhat you want me to say, I'll go to prison instead of Will. It ain'tin reason to expect a feller to say a thing like that. "

"Isaac, " continued Hester, "we don't care nothing about punishing you. This is what you've got to do, --you've got to take Will out of prison, and let him marry his own true love. And you have got to do it in thisway. I'm going now to fetch Miss Mary Vallence, the young lady whosepurse you stole, and she'll take down your full confession inwriting, --all about how you planned to ruin Will, all your reasons, and what you did with the rest of the money. She'll put it down onpaper--the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; and thenyou ha' got to sign your name to it, and Mother Bunch and me we'llwitness it, and then after that, Isaac, we'll set you free, and oneof us will go with you to the end of Paradise Row, and you shall havean hour--jest one hour--to get away in, before Miss Vallence lodgesthat paper with the police. Them's our terms, Isaac, and you ha' gotto say yes or no to them at once. "

"Maybe the child 'ud rather feel my right ahrum, " burst from MotherBunch. 

"No, " said Isaac, sullenly. "You have me in a trap, and I must do whatyou wish. You'll be true to your promise about the hour, Hester. Oh!--it's the meanest trick that was ever played on a feller, and I'llbe even with every one of you yet. "

"You may do your worst, child--we ain't afeard, " responded MotherBunch. "Three cheers, boys all--for Isaac Dent have lost hissweetheart. "

The room rang again with the sound of boisterous merriment, and in themidst of the confusion and uproar Hester slipped away. 

She was going to Miss Vallence, to ask her to come with her at once, and so to redeem her promise. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The dread of corporal punishment, the dire sensation of fear, is aboutthe only weapon which produces salutary results on certain individuals. They belong to the lowest of the race, but they undoubtedly do exist, and it is well to know how to deal with them. The Irish people inParadise Row obtained from Isaac Dent what no amount of prayers andsupplications would have won from him. Miss Vallence, when she arrived, took down from his lips a full and free confession of the evil parthe had played. This paper was duly signed and attested, and the prisonerwas given his liberty and an hour's grace. That he made good use ofthis hour is apparent; for no one has heard or Been anything of himin Liverpool again. The Irish folks were intensely triumphant; andMother Bunch, in high good humor, invited every one of the conspiratorsto a banquet at her house on the day on which Will was let out ofprison. 

"And now to find Bet, and to see how the little cap'n is getting on, "said Hester. "I'll run up and take a look at him now, Mother Bunch. I hope Biddy has not stirred from him during the evening. "

"No fear of that, child, " responded Mother Bunch, but in reality therewas much fear; for the recreant Biddy, Mrs. O'Flaherty's eldestdaughter, had been enjoying herself in a back part of the kitchenduring the entire evening's entertainment. She slunk away now, afraidto meet her mother's wrath, should it descend upon her devoted head. Hester, accompanied by Miss Vallence, went upstairs. 

"It's all very well, " she said. "We ha' got rid of Isaac Dent, andpoor Will is cleared. But where's Bet! It'll be a sad day for my ladwhen he gets his liberty, and can't get no tidings of the gel he havegiven his heart to. "

"Oh, we must find her, and we will, " said Miss Vallence. "God hashelped us--we must not begin to doubt Him now. "

Hester stared at her companion. 

"I believe in Lord God Almighty, " she then said in a solemn tone. "After to-night, I believe in God. "

As she said this she stepped into the attic. 

"Miss Vallence!" she said, with a glad cry. "Oh, Miss Vallence--comehere!"

Hand in hand the two girls approached Bet's humble little bed. A childlay there in a light and refreshing sleep; his head rested on a girl'sbreast, and her right arm was thrown protectingly over him. The girl, too, slept, and her disordered red-gold hair half covered her face. 

In such a manner, therefore, this short history comes to an end. Forthe captain got well again, and the general was discovered to havefound a home for himself in the shelter for children provided by thesociety for the prevention of cruelty to these defenceless and helplesslittle beings. Granger thought it best to leave Liverpool, and as soonas possible Will regained his liberty. 

Yet again there came the eve of a wedding-day; and on this occasionthe day itself dawned brightly and ended in happiness. 

These things happened a few years ago, and Bet is a matron now, withgolden-haired and beautiful children of her own. She is a grave-lookingwoman, and in some ways she will carry the sting of that two months'agony to her death. She is religious too; but she says little abouther belief, she only acts on it. The sailor Will has the best home inLiverpool, and those who are in trouble have a way of coming to Betfor help and counsel. No one would recognize this sober and yetbeautiful sailor's wife for the wild, impetuous, headstrong girl whohad vainly made a promise by her mother's death-bed. She has made apromise now, however, which she is not likely to break; and Will saysproudly that no one ever had such a wife as his Bet. 

Hester was always a Bohemian, and will doubtless remain so to the end. She still sings to the children, and the old people, and the sorrowful. She won't sell her gift; therefore she is likely to remain in so-calledpoverty for the remainder of her days. In reality, however, she isrich; for a crown of love rests on her brow, and warms her heart. 

"I'd rayther, " she says now and then, in close confidence, to Bet-"I'drayther be just what I am-a singer of the slums-than be the greatestlady in the land. "

This statement may be difficult to believe, but in Hester's case itis literally true. 

THE END.