During the time which had intervened between William Holl's arrest and his trial, and during the anxious time of the trial itself, Carry Walker had called in nearly every day to comfort Mrs. Holl. When the trial was over, however, she had, for a few days, ceased her visits, for she felt that she could do or say nothing to alleviate Bessy's distress. Upon her first visit she was surprised to find Bessy sitting at her needlework with a look of absolute contentment upon her face; while Mrs. Holl was, as usual, engaged in washing. “How are you, Mrs. Holl? I am glad to see your sister-in-law is looking better. How are you, Bessy?”
“Oh! I am quite well, Miss Walker, and so happy now.”
[75]
Carry looked surprised.
“Happy!” she repeated. “Has your husband been pardoned?”
“No, miss; but haven't you heard?”
“No,” Carry said, “I have heard nothing. I have not been in for the last few days because I was afraid of being in the way. What has happened?”
“Why, Miss Carry,” Sarah Holl broke out, “you'd hardly believe it, but it's true; a gentleman, God bless him, has offered to pay Bessy's passage out to Australia to join William there, and in another year she'll be starting.”
“That is very kind of him, Mrs. Holl. Who is he?”
“His name is Maynard, him as our Evan is with.”
James was watching Carry's face, and saw a sudden rush of colour come up into it at the name. To tell the truth, Carry had thought a good deal of Frank Maynard since that solitary visit of his. His having saved her father's life had endowed him in her eyes with all the qualities of a hero of romance. She had thought over that interview very many times, and never without [76] blushing at the thoughts of the kiss she had given him. He had said he would come again, and very eagerly had she looked forward to his next visit, but as days and weeks had passed on without his coming, she felt both very resentful and hurt. Did he think her so forward that he would not come again? Or did he not think them worth another visit? Her only consolation had been that perhaps he was out of town all this time. And now this hope was dispelled, and Carry blushed even deeper than before with pique and wounded pride.
“Is it the Mr. Maynard who lives in the Temple?” she asked, clinging to a last hope.
“Yes, Miss Carry. Do you know him?”
“A little,” Carry said, coldly; “he picked my father up one evening last winter when he had slipped down in Knightsbridge.”
The cripple lad noticed all this—the first sudden blush at his name, then the coldness of manner and the slighting way in which she spoke of a service which, he remembered well, she had described in such enthusiastic terms not long before. What could this mean? Carry afterwards was rather ashamed of her little fit of [77] petulance, and listened with great interest to the account of Bessy Holl's hopes and plans for the future. Then, after a few words to James, she took her leave.
Very often afterwards James pondered the matter over in his mind, while his fingers almost mechanically worked at his wax flowers. “Why should Carry have blushed so deeply upon hearing Mr. Maynard's name suddenly mentioned, and why should she have spoken so coldly of him when she had formerly been so enthusiastic in his praises as the preserver of her father's life?” All this was utterly beyond James's comprehension. His knowledge of the world was completely confined to what he had learned from books, and he owned with a sigh that his books were of no assistance whatever to him in the present case. All that, after great thought, he arrived at satisfactorily, or rather unsatisfactorily, to himself was, that there was some mystery or other, although of what nature he could not even guess, between Carry Walker and Mr. Maynard.
Carry Walker was a spoilt child. She had managed her father from the day when she was able to climb upon his knee, and insist, with [78] much coaxing certainly and patting of his cheeks, and other pretty ways, but insisting nevertheless, upon having her own way. Very spoilt she had grown up, with no mother to control or check her, and with a father who allowed her to do in every respect as she pleased. Very spoilt had she afterwards been—for all the admiration and flattery she had received during the last two years was enough to have turned the heads of half-a-dozen girls. She had never had a mother's care or advice, or the healthy society of girls of her own age. The chances had been all against her, and she was little to be blamed in that she had grown up somewhat vain and flighty. Carry was indignant all that afternoon, and was angry with herself for being so. During that time she had no opportunity of speaking to her father, and it was not until she eat down to tea that she had an opportunity of doing so.
“I was in at the Holls' this afternoon, father.”
“And how is that unfortunate woman, my dear? Dear me, dear me, I cannot understand why men will neglect their business and go about talking about affairs which don't concern them. [79] I cannot see, Carry, upon my life I cannot, what good can possibly come of it. I told William Holl so. I cautioned him that he would find out his mistake too late. But there, I might as well have talked to the wind. These all but uneducated young fellows have an idea that the whole wisdom of the nation is centred in their heads. All the questions which have occupied and puzzled the wisest men of the nation, who have given their whole attention to them, these young fellows solve in the twinkling of an eye to their own perfect satisfaction. And now what has come of it? He has got transported, and upon my life I don't pity him at all. But there's his poor wife left behind to shift for herself. I am very sorry for her. But for the matter of that, she will do as well without him as with him. He has been a world of trouble to her, and I believe he has done no work at all for the last four or five months; talk, talk, talk, nothing but talk, my dear. It won't keep the pot boiling. Still it is sad for her, for I believe she loves him, idle scamp as he is. I wonder what will become of her?”
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