"Am I dyin' now?" she asked, with a frightened look at Holmes.
He told her no, cheerfully.
"I've no tho't o' dyin'. I dunnot thenk o' dyin'. Don't mind,
dear! Yoh'll stay with me, fur good?"
The man's paroxysm of fear for her over, his spite and cowardice
came uppermost.
"It's him," he yelped, looking fiercely at Holmes. "He's got my
life in his hands. He kin take it. What does he keer fur me or
my girl? I'll not stay wi' yoh no longer, Lo. Mornin' he'll
send me t' th' lock-up, an' after"----
"I care for you, child," said Holmes, stooping suddenly close to
the girl's livid face.
"To-morrow?" she muttered. "My Christmas-day?"
He wet her face while he looked over at the wretch whose life he
held in his hands. It was the iron rule of Holmes's nature to be
just; but to-night dim perceptions of a deeper justice than law
opened before him,--problems he had no time to solve: the
sternest fortress is liable to be taken by assault,--and the dew
of the coming morn was on his heart.
"So as I've hunted fur him!" she whispered, weakly. "I didn't
thenk it wud come to this. So as I loved him! Oh, Mr. Holmes,
he's hed a pore chance in livin',--forgive him this! Him that'll
come to-morrow 'd say to forgive him this."
She caught the old man's head in her arms with an agony of tears,
and held it tight.
"I hev hed a pore chance," he said, looking up,--"that's God's
truth, Lo! I dunnot keer fur that: it's too late goin' back.
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