“Will you let me say a word for little Mary, instead?” rejoined Mrs. Joyce. “Will you let me remind you that Mr. Blyth’s proposal offers her a secure protection against that inhuman wretch who has ill-used her already, and who may often ill-use her again, in spite of everything you can do to prevent him. Pray think of that, Mrs. Peckover--pray do!”
Poor Mrs. Peckover showed that she thought of it bitterly enough, by a fresh burst of tears.
The rector poured out a glass of water, and gave it to her. “Do not think us inconsiderate or unfeeling,” he said, “in pressing Mr. Blyth’s offer on you so perseveringly. Only reflect on Mary’s position, if she remains in the circus as she grows up! Would all your watchful kindness be sufficient to shield her against dangers to which I hardly dare allude?--against wickedness which would take advantage of her defenselessness, her innocence, and even her misfortune? Consider all that Mr. Blyth’s proposal promises for her future life; for the sacred preservation of her purity of heart and mind. Look forward to the day when little Mary will have gown up to be a young woman; and I will answer, Mrs. Peckover, for your doing full justice to the importance of my friend’s offer.”
“I know it’s all true, sir; I know I’m an ungrateful, selfish wretch--but only give me a little time to think; a little time longer to be with the poor darling that I love like my own child!”
Doctor Joyce was just drawing his chair closer to Mrs. Peckover before he answered, when the door opened, and the respectable Vance softly entered the room.
“What do you want here?” said the rector, a little irritably. “Didn’t I tell you not to come in again till I rang for you?’
“I beg your pardon, sir,” answered Vance, casting rather a malicious look at the clown’s wife as he closed the door behind him--“but there’s a person waiting in the hall, who says he comes on important business, and must see you directly.”
“He says his name is Jubber, if you please, sir.”
Mrs. Peckover started from her chair with a scream. “Don’t--pray, for mercy’s sake, sir, don’t let him into the garden where Mary is!” she gasped, clutching Doctor Joyce by the arm in the extremity of her terror. “He’s found us out, and come here in one of his dreadful passions! He cares for nothing and for nobody, sir: he’s bad enough to ill-treat her even before you. What am I to do? Oh, good gracious heavens! what am I to do?”