“Yes. How did you hear, mother?”
“Oh, Job came over here, and telled me, on his way to the undertaker’s. Did he make a fine end?”
It struck Jem that she had not heard of the confession which had been made by John Barton on his deathbed; he remembered Job Legh’s discretion, and he determined that if it could be avoided his mother should never hear of it. Many of the difficulties to be anticipated in preserving the secret would be obviated, if he could induce his mother to fall into the plan he had named to Mary of emigrating to Canada. The reasons which rendered this secrecy desirable related to the domestic happiness he hoped for. With his mother’s irritable temper he could hardly expect that all allusion to the crime of John Barton would be for ever restrained from passing her lips, and he knew the deep trial which such references would be to Mary. Accordingly he resolved as soon as possible in the morning to go to Job and beseech his silence; he trusted that secrecy in that quarter, even if the knowledge had been extended to Margaret, might be easily secured.
But what would be Mr. Carson’s course?
Were there any means by which he might be persuaded to spare John Barton’s memory?
He was roused up from this train of thought by his mother’s more irritated tone of voice.
“Jem!” she was saying, “thou mightst just as well never be at a deathbed again, if thou cannot bring off more news about it; here have I been by mysel all day (except when oud Job came in), but thinks I when Jem comes he’ll be sure to be good company, seeing he was in the house at the very time of the death; and here thou art, without a word to throw at a dog, much less thy mother: it’s no use thy going to a deathbed if thou cannot carry away any of the sayings!”
“He did not make any, mother,” replied Jem.
“Well, to be sure! So fond as he used to be of holding forth, to miss such a fine opportunity that will never come again! Did he die easy?”
“He was very restless all night long,” said Jem, reluctantly returning to the thoughts of that time.
“And in course thou plucked the pillow away? Thou didst not! Well! with thy bringing up, and thy learning, thou mightst have known that were the only help in such a case. There were pigeons’ feathers in the pillow, depend on’t. To think of two grown-up folk like you and Mary, not knowing death could never come easy to a person lying on a pillow with pigeons’ feathers in!”
Jem was glad to escape from all this talking, to the solitude and quiet of his own room, where he could lie and think uninterruptedly of what had happened and remained to be done.
The first thing was to seek an interview with Mr. Duncombe, his former master. Accordingly, early the next morning Jem set off on his walk to the works, where for so many years his days had been spent; where for so long a time his thoughts had been thought, his hopes and fears experienced. It was not a cheering feeling to remember that henceforward he was to be severed from all these familiar places; nor were his spirits enlivened by the evident feelings of the majority of those who had been his fellow-workmen. As he stood in the entrance to the foundry, awaiting Mr. Duncombe’s leisure, many of those employed in the works passed him on their return from breakfast; and, with one or two exceptions, without any acknowledgment of former acquaintance beyond a distant nod at the utmost.
“It is hard,” said Jem to himself, with a bitter and indignant feeling rising in his throat, “that let a man’s life be what it may, folk are so ready to credit the first word against him. I could live it down if I stayed in England; but then what would not Mary have to bear? Sooner or later the truth would out; and then she would be a show to folk for many a day as John Barton’s daughter. Well! God does not judge as hardly as man, that’s one comfort for all of us!”
Mr. Duncombe did not believe in Jem’s guilt, in spite of the silence in which he again this day heard the imputation of it; but he agreed that under the circumstances it was better he should leave the country.
“We have been written to by Government, as I think I told you before, to recommend an intelligent man, well acquainted with mechanics, as instrument-maker to the Agricultural College they are establishing at Toronto, in Canada. It is a comfortable appointment,—house,—land,—and a good percentage on the instruments made. I will show you the particulars if I can lay my hand on the letter, which I believe I must have left at home.”
“Thank you, sir. No need for seeing the letter to say I’ll accept it. I must leave Manchester; and I’d as lief quit England at once when I’m about it.”
“Of course, Government will give you your passage; indeed, I believe an allowance would be made for a family if you had one; but you are not a married man, I believe?”
“No, sir, but”—Jem hung back from a confession with the awkwardness of a girl.
“But”—said Mr. Duncombe, smiling, “you would like to be a married man before you go, I suppose; eh, Wilson?”
“If you please, sir. And there’s my mother, too. I hope she’ll go with us. But I can pay her passage; no need to trouble Government.”
“Nay, nay! I’ll write to-day and recommend you; and say that you have a family of two. They’ll never ask if the family goes upwards or downwards. I shall see you again before you sail, I hope, Wilson; though I believe they’ll not allow you long to wait. Come to my house next time; you’ll find it pleasanter, I dare say. These men are so wrong- headed. Keep up your heart!”
Jem felt that it was a relief to have this point settled; and that he need no longer weigh reasons for and against his emigration.
And with his path growing clearer and clearer before him the longer he contemplated it, he went to see Mary, and if he judged it fit, to tell her what he had decided upon. Margaret was sitting with her.
“Grandfather wants to see you!” said she to Jem on his entrance.
“And I want to see him,” replied Jem, suddenly remembering his last night’s determination to enjoin secrecy on Job Legh.
So he hardly stayed to kiss poor Mary’s sweet woe-begone face, but tore himself away from his darling to go to the old man, who awaited him impatiently.
“I’ve getten a note from Mr. Carson,” exclaimed Job the moment he saw Jem; “and, man alive, he wants to see thee and me! For sure, there’s no more mischief up, is there?” said he, looking at Jem with an expression of
