Molly was out, as the sisters hoped, tossing the meadow hay, and Judith sat alone by the fire. Mary told her very gently of the scheme, and she kept on saying, "Thank you, ma'am," while the tears came into her eyes. Mrs Carbonel gave her Mrs Barnard's letter to read, but the tears came so thick and fast that she could not see it at first, nor indeed fully grasp the meaning, while two pairs of eyes were devouring her countenance as she read. Mrs Carbonel guessed how it was, and saw that the transports which Dora and Sophy expected were not by any means near, so she gently said, "We will leave you to read the letter, and come again to-morrow to hear what you think."
"Thank you, ma'am; thank you," said poor Judith, as well as she could among her tears.
"How stupid she is!" cried Sophy, as they emerged into the road.
"I don't believe she could read Mrs Barnard's letter," said Dora.
"No, not for tears," said Mary.
"Do you think she could have understood you?" added Sophy.
"Oh, yes; she understood well enough."
"But how could she be so dull as not to be delighted?" said Sophy.
"So ungrateful, too!" added Dora.
"My dear Dora! It was the embarrassment of her gratitude that touched me so much," exclaimed Mary.
"Do you really think she will not be enchanted to get away from that dismal hole, and live with honest people?" asked Sophy.
"My dears, I think you have quite forgotten that Mrs Dan Hewlett is her sister."
"Nobody would think so," said Dora.
"If she could only take Johnnie and Judy away with her," said Sophy, "before their father has spoiled them."
"You can't think she would refuse such an offer!" added Dora. "To be with a good, nice woman, and at peace among her friends. It really would be quite wicked in her to refuse."
Nevertheless, Mary withstood all the entreaties of her sisters to go with her to hear Judith's decision. Edmund heard them persuading her, and in his peremptory manner desired them to desist. So they hovered about the garden and home-field waiting for news.
But the news was not what they expected. Mrs Carbonel found Judith very tearful, but resolute.
"I could not do it, ma'am! I am sorry, sorry to the heart, to seem ungrateful for her kindness; but, indeed, I could not do it. I cannot leave my sister and the children."
"You would be so much more comfortable-so much better looked after."
"Yes, ma'am, I know that. Mrs Gregg is one of the best of women, and so kind. It is very good of her to be willing to take me in; but-"
"You need not be afraid of the journey. Mrs Barnard will come for you."
"Oh yes, ma'am, I know; but there's my sister, ma'am, and her children. I could not leave them."
"I was afraid they did not know how to take care of you, and that your brother-in-law was rough with you."
"My sister have been much better of late, since you have been here, ma'am; and the poor children, ma'am, I can do something for them."
"I see that John and Judy seem to respond to your care; but is it right to give up all your comfort and peace, and even your health, for so little as you are enabled to do for them? It would be better if there were some appreciation of your care, or some attention paid-"
"Molly is generally good to me. Yes, she is, ma'am; and poor little Johnnie, there ain't nothing he would not do for me. I'm greatly obliged to Mrs Barnard and the dear young ladies. I would dearly like to see them again; but Molly is my sister, and my sister is my sister, and I can't feel it right to leave her."
"I honour you, Judith. It is a right feeling. But when they neglect you, and prey upon you, can it be incumbent on you to give up all for their sakes?"
"I don't know, ma'am; but my poor sister, she has a hard life, and I think her husband would be worse to her if I went away. I couldn't have no comfort in thinking of them if I did."
"Do they know of this? Have they been persuading you?"
"No, ma'am; I did not say a word. Molly was out, and I wanted to think it out without being worried and terrified."
"Quite right, Judith. I am glad they do not know," said Mary, who had learned that "terrified" did not mean frightened, but "tormented." "I can well believe you have decided in true unselfishness, and in the fear of God. But if you see reason to change your mind, let me know in the course of the week."
Dora and Sophy were really quite angry at Judith's refusal, especially Dora, who had taken all the trouble of representing her condition to the Barnards.
"I should call it ungrateful," she said, "only I believe it is pure weakness and folly. Those people have been bullying her and tormenting her out of consenting."
"You are wrong, Dora," said her sister, "they know nothing about it! This is all her own doing."
"And," said Edmund, "if you were older, Dora, you would know how to appreciate a very noble act of self-denial."
Dora did not at all like Edmund to talk of her being older; but what he had said gave her something to think about, and she began to reverence the feeling that made Judith Grey choose the rough and ungenial life with the Hewletts, to comfort and sympathy with her friends.
Mrs Carbonel and Judith were mistaken in thinking the transaction could pass unknown to the rest of the family. Polly was near at hand, but had hidden herself, on the lad's approach, for fear of being called to account for not being at school, and she reported to her mother that "Madam Gobbleall had been ever so long with aunt, a-trying to persuade her to go away, and live with them fine folks as she was in service with."
Molly had a certain real affection for her sister; but to both her and Dan, the removal would be like the loss of the goose that laid the golden eggs, and there is no saying what poor Judith had to go through. Molly came and cried torrents of tears, taking it for granted that Judith meant to go, and must be frightened out of it. It was of no use to declare that she had refused the lady. Molly was so much in the habit of semi-deception, that she could not believe the assurance; and to hear her lamentations over her dear sister, for whom no one could do like a blood-relation, and her horror at the idea of strangers being preferred to herself, one would have thought-as indeed she believed herself-that she was Judith's most devoted and indefatigable nurse. And to think of them Gobblealls being so sly, such snakes in the grass, as to try to get her away, unknownst! She would not have them prying about her house again.
Dan declared it was all the cunning of them, for fear Judith should become chargeable to the parish, and there! her fine friends would die, or give her up, or she would just be thrown on the parish, and passed on to a strange workhouse, and then she would see what she got by leaving her kin. It was just like their sly tricks!
In point of fact, if Judith had become chargeable to the parish, Dan's remarks would have been equally true of Uphill, whence she would have been handed to the place where her father had lived, and it was the object of every place to dispose of all superfluous paupers. But Dan and Molly wished her to imagine them willing to keep her freely, in case of a failure of the supplies!
Poor thing! They really thought that their opposition had induced her to drop the idea, and that it was for their own ease, or the good of the rates, that the Carbonel ladies had tried to persuade her to leave them. Molly did not forbid the ladies the house-there was too much to be made out of the pickings from their presents-so Judith did not lose the cheerfulness and comfort they brought her; but Dan laid up the proposal in his mind as another cause of hatred and ill-will to Captain Carbonel.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN. SCALES OF JUSTICE.
"Thou hast appointed justices of peace to call poor men before them
for matters they were not able to answer."-Shakespeare.