“Ye’d better. It’s all ready.”
“I don’t wish any thing. But if you’ll send me up something for my child, I will be obliged to you.”
The landlady stood for some moments, as if undecided what she should do, and then retired. About half an hour afterwards, a dirty looking Irish girl appeared with a waiter, on which were the articles for which she had asked.
“Don’t ye want any thing for yerself, mum?” asked the girl, with some kindness in her voice.
“No, I thank you,” was replied.
“You’d better eat a little.”
“I’ve no appetite,” said Mrs. Lane, turning her face away to conceal the emotion that was rising to the surface.
The girl retired, and the food brought for the child was placed before her; but she felt as little inclined to eat as her mother, and could not be induced to take a mouthful. Turning from the offered food, she raised her tearful eyes to her mother’s face, and in a choking voice said—”Go home, mamma—see papa.”
The words smote, like heavy strokes, upon the mother’s heart. How great a wrong had she done her child! But could she retrace her steps now? Could she go back and humble herself under the imperious will of her husband? Her heart shrunk from the thought. Any thing but that! it would crush the life out of her. An hour she sat, with these and kindred thoughts passing through her mind, when the girl who had brought up Mary’s breakfast came in and said—”Won’t yees walk down into the parlour, mum, while I clean up your room?”
“Is any one down there?” asked Mrs. Lane.
“No, mum,” was answered by the girl.
With some reluctance Mrs. Lane descended to the small, dingy parlour, which she found adjoining a bar-room, whence there came the loud voices of men. From a window she looked forth upon the street, which was narrow, and crowded with carts, drays, and other vehicles. Opposite were old houses, in which business of various kinds was carried on. One was occupied by a cooper; another used as a storehouse for fish; another for a grog-shop. Every thing was dirty and crowded, and all appeared bustle and confusion. It was plain to her that she had fallen in an evil place, and that her first business must be escape. As she sat meditating upon the next step, there came suddenly, from the bar-room, the sound of angry voices, mingled with fierce threats and shocking blasphemy. Springing to her feet in terror, Mrs. Lane caught up her child, and was about starting from the door without any covering upon her head, when the landlady intercepted her.
“What’s the matter with yees? Where are ye going?”
With quivering lips, and face white with alarm, Mrs. Lane replied—”Oh, ma’am! get me my things and let me go.”
“Ye can go when ye pays yer bill, in welcome,” replied the woman.
“How much is it?”
“It’s a dollar and a half.”
The Irishwoman looked steadily at Mrs. Lane, and saw, by the change in her countenance, what she had expected, that she had not as much money in her possession.
“Won’t a dollar pay you?” asked Mrs. Lane, after standing with her eyes upon the floor for some moments. “I’ve had nothing but my night’s lodging and surely a dollar will pay for that.”
“Indade and it won’t, then! Sure, and yer breakfast was got. If ye didn’t ate it, I’m not to fault.
“Here is a dollar,” said Mrs. Lane, taking out her purse. “I’m sure it’s full pay for all I’ve received.”
“And d’ye mane to call me an ould chate, ye spalpeen, ye!” indignantly replied the landlady, her face growing red with anger, while she raised her huge fist and shook it at her terrified guest, who retreated back into the parlour, and sank, trembling, into a chair.
“As if I wasn’t an honest woman,” continued the virago, following Mrs. Lane. “As if I’d extort on a lone woman! Give me patience! When ye pays the dollar and a half, ye can go; but not a foot shall ye take from my door until then.”
A scuffle took place in the bar-room at that moment, attended by a new eruption of oaths and imprecations.
Quickly sprinting from her chair, Mrs. Lane, with Mary in her arms, glided from the room, and ran panting up- stairs to her chamber, the door of which she locked behind her on entering.
Half an hour of as calm reflection as it was possible for Mrs. Lane to make brought her to the resolution to leave the house at all hazards. Where she was to go, was to be an afterthought. The greatest evil was to remain; after escaping that, she would consider the means of avoiding what followed. Putting on her bonnet and shawl, and taking her basket, she went down-stairs with her child, determined, if possible, to get away unobserved, and after doing so, to send back, by any means that offered, the only dollar she possessed in the world to the landlady. No one met her on the stairs, and she passed the parlour-door unobserved. But, alas! the street-door was found locked and the key withdrawn. After a few ineffectual attempts to open it, Mrs. Lane went into the parlour, and, standing there, debated for some moments whether she should leave the house by passing through the bar-room, or wait for another opportunity to get away by the private entrance. While still bewildered and undetermined the landlady came in from the bar-room.
The moment she saw her guest, she comprehended the purpose in her mind.
“Where are ye going?” said she in a quick sharp voice, the blood rising to her coarse sensual face.
“I am going to leave your house,” replied Mrs. Lane, in as firm a voice as she could command. As she spoke she drew forth her purse, and taking out the solitary dollar it contained, added—”Unfortunately, this is all the money I have with me, but I will send you the other half-dollar.”
But the landlady refused to take the proffered money, and replied, indignantly,
“A purty how d’you do, indeed, to come into a genteel body’s house, and then expect to get off without paying
