on this eve of the great Christmas festival; but 
her mind was not free to devote Itself to her 
labors. The Image of Mrs. Jorboys pursued her 
through all her duties. 
«• I'm very like to waut more raisins and spices 
for the pudding between this and the New Year.'* 
she said to herself; “I’ll walk to Hammersley this 
afternoon, and have It out with Mrs. Jorboys.” 
Having once resolved on this course, the mar 
tron was more at ease. She set out on her ex¬ 
pedition directly after dinner, leaving the vicar 
3 molcIng his pipe by the chimney-corner, and 
Dorothy busy with her plaiu sewing. The girl 
had offered to accompany her mother, but 
the offer had been refused. The dame departed in 
very good spirits, promising to return by tea- 
tlrne. Dorothy sat sewing while her father 
3 moked and dozed, and dozed and smoked; and at 
Bve o’clock In came the curate, tired with a day’s 
bard work, but cheered by his Dorothy's welcome 
and well pleased to And himself seated by her 
Bide. 
“I’ve come all the way from Llscott common,” 
he said, as he seated himself In the old-fashioned 
arm-chair which Dorothy had set ready to re¬ 
ceive him; “ and It’s a long trudge. ” 
It was five o'clock, and Dorothy had brewed 
the tea, which was an Initial on to be partaken of 
with a certain ceremony In those days, as an ex¬ 
pensive luxury Implying refined taste and much 
gentility on the part of the consumer. Parson 
Bolton took no tea—but the curate liked all that 
Dorothy liked. The pretty little china teacups 
—traglle little things, without handles, like a 
child's toy cups and saucers—and the quaint 
Utile teapot were set out on the polished mahog¬ 
any board, but there were no signs of Mrs. Bol¬ 
ton’s return. So the lovers sat talking together 
in undertones while the lather dozed for one 
brief happy hour, and then, after the usual 
preliminary groaning, the infallible eight-day 
clock struck six. 
“ l should be quite frightened about mother," 
said Dorothy, “if I dld’nt. know that Jorboys’ 
man is to come home behind her with the par¬ 
cels.” 
She had scarcely spoken when the door was 
opened, and shut again with a slamming noise, 
and Mrs. Bolton stalked Into the room. 
The matron’s cheeks were crimson, and the 
matron’s eyes flashed fire. Never before had 
Dorothy soon such a look in her mother’s face. 
“You’re late home, madam, ’’she said, tremb- 
llng,she scarcely knew why.uuless It were because 
of the strange look in her mother’s face. 
“ Thanks be to God that I’m not too late,” the 
person’s wife answered solemnly. The unfamiliar 
tone of her voice startled her husband from his 
comfortable doze, and he looked up alarmed, cry¬ 
ing, “ What, what ?” like his revered sovereign 
King George in after-days. 
“ sit down and drink thy tea, lass,” said the 
good-natured parson, as his wife stood tugging 
at the string of her cloak, hindered by Dorothy, 
who made believe to assist with trembling lin¬ 
gers. 
“ Never, while that had man Is under this roof,” 
answered the dame, painting to Matthew Wall, 
who had risen to receive her. 
“Bad man!" cried the parson; “art thou 
dreaming? There’s no one hero hut Matthew 
Wall, thy son-in-law that Is to be.” 
“My son la-law that never shall be: I would 
Bee my daughter In her wiudlng-slieet first.” 
“ Why, what maggot has bitten thee, wife ?” 
“ May I ask the meaning of this strange talk, 
madam V" asked the curate, with that awful 
calmness peculiar to a proud man who feels him¬ 
self outraged. 
“Thou mayst ask and shalt he told,too, as 
plain as I can speak before this simple, tender 
soul that loves thee,” answered the matron. “ I 
wonder thou art not ashamed to come to an hon¬ 
est man’s house and steal his daughter’s heart— 
you, that play saint on Sundays, and sinner on 
Mondays, and hypocrite all the week round." 
“Mother!" cried the girl,—Indignation, as¬ 
tonishment, a ngulsh, reproach, all expressed In 
that piteous cry. 
“ l must ask for the second time what you are 
pleased to moan, madam?" said Matthew Wall 
with unshaken calmness. 
“ I’ll answer that question with another, sir, 
returned the matron. “ Will you be so good as to 
tell mo—here, before my husband and daughter— 
whether you know Llscott Common?” 
There was nothing very awful In the question 
itself, hut Mrs. Bolton’s tone made It awful, and 
it went like a pistol-shot through Dorothy’s 
heart, as she remembered how her lover had 
talked of hts walk from Llscott Common that 
very afternoon. 
“ Yes, Mrs. Bolton, 1 know Llscott Common.” 
“ So. sir, you don’t deny your wickedness ?" 
cxled the dame; “but perhaps you will deny 
your knowledge of Jane Gurd’s cottage on the 
other side of the common, where you've been 
seen to go twice, three limes, four times a week 
for this last six months; and where you’ve been 
known to stay two hours at a spell, times aDd 
often—you, that complain of wanting leisure for 
good works! You could find leisure lor bad 
works, and to spare, I reckon. What, you start 
and change color at last, my line master 1 I doubt 
you did not think Uammersley folks were sharp 
enough to find out your doings.” 
“l did not think Uammersley folks were so 
wicked as to Impute evil to a man who, when 
most unworthy, is at least urgent In his duty.” 
“ Upon my word, sir,” exclaimed the Infuriate 
matron, pushing aside the trembling girl, who 
would fain have restrained her wrath, “you carry 
matters with a hold front; and I must needs 
speak plainer than X care to speak berore this 
simple child here, who was too quick to love and 
trust you against her parents’ will that had 
higher hopes for her. Nay, dry thy tears, Doily; 
I’ll see thee mistress of Haver Grange, belike, in¬ 
stead of drudge and draggletall for love of that 
dirt yonder.” 
And the matron pointed at Matthew Wall with 
a trembling finger,—at Matthew, whose calmness 
was not yet shaken. 
“ Will It please you to speak quietly and civilly, 
madam?” he said, *' You ask me It 1 know Lls¬ 
cott Common, and I answer yes; If I know Jane 
Gurd’s cottage, and r answer yes again. 1 came 
straight from there to this house an hour ago.” 
“ You came from there to my child !” shrieked 
Mrs. Bolton; “then, indeed, you are a shameless 
villain I” 
" Come, come, dame," expostulated the parson; 
“civil words! civil words!" 
“ 'Tis easy talking for you, William; but am 1 
to pick and choose my words, when my heart Is 
like to burst for grief and shame ? That wretch 
yonder, that was to bo married to our Dorothy a 
fortnight come Saturday—him that pretends to 
bo a saint—must. u«eds have bis fancy. He keeps 
a fine madam hid away In Jane Gurd’s cottage, 
and there’s scarce a day passes that lie does not 
waste a couple of hours in paying Uts duty to the 
lady; and he comes stvalght- from that woman to 
my daughter; and you ask me to keep my pa¬ 
tience, William Bolton!" 
I’ll not believe It!” cried Dorotbysuddenly, 
fltnglDg herself away from her mother, and 
standing bolt upright, looking at the dame with 
flaming eyes. “ I’ll not believe It, mother, If all 
the people in Hammersley were to swear It on 
their Bibles." 
There is no need for so much warmth, Doro¬ 
thy,” the curate said gently. “ i do not fear thou 
wilt believe 111 o! thy chosen husband. And you, 
madam, will soon be sorry for having done me so 
much wrong. Pray, who was It told you this 
pretty story ?” 
“I heard It rrom Mrs. Jorboys; but ’tls the 
common talk of nammersley.” 
I am sorry Uammersley should choose such 
vile discourse." 
“ Can you deny this story ?" 
“ I will not trouble myself to deny It.” 
“ O, Indeed, Mr. Brazenface! You won’t deny, 
then, that there la a young woman living In Jane 
Gurd’s cottage, and that, you took her there?” 
“ That is quite true." 
“ And Is It true that you have paid for the ver¬ 
min’s board and lodging ?” 
“ Vermin is a very hard word, Mrs. Bolton, and 
the girl at Jane Gurd’s cottage deserves no such 
bad name. I have paid tor her meat and drink 
hitherto: Jane Is kind enough to give her shelter 
without recompense." 
“ And you took her there ?" 
“ Yes, I lock her there.” 
“ Y'ou are a bad man, Matthew Wall.” 
“ I thought you were too good a woman to be 
so ready to think ill, or to listen to gossip that is 
as Idle as It Is wicked," answered the curate with 
the gentle gravity that had distinguished his 
manner throughout this Interview. 
“ If there Is no harm in your doings, why have 
you kept them secret ?" asked the dame with no 
less anger, but with a certain admixture of un¬ 
certainty. V 
“ I can but answer you with Shylock, It has 
been * my humor.’ There are things a man does 
not care to talk about. I have had my fancy 
about, that poor girl at Llscott Common. The 
fancy might have proved a foolish one, and I 
might have been laughed at for my pains." 
“ And this is all you have to say ?" 
it Yes; 1 will say no more to-night. It you want 
to know more, Mrs. Bolton, or it you would know 
more, Dorothy dear, you have but to walk to Lls¬ 
cott Common with me after service to-morrow, 
and you may And out more of poor Betty Chau 
you can learn by llammersley’s gossip." 
“Betty!” exclaimed the matron, “ Betty what, 
pray, sir 7” 
“She has no other name,” replied Matthew; 
"she had one when I first met with her; but 1 
have done my best to rid her of It. And now I 
will wish you good night, madam, and a heart 
less prone to give heed to slander. Sure, 1 know 
’tls a kind one." 
He took Dorothy’s hand as he passed her, and 
pressed it tenderly to his lips. 
"Thou art too pure to doubt me, dear crea¬ 
ture," be murmured. “ I will show thy kinsfolk 
to-morrow that thy purity la wiser than their ex¬ 
perience." 
In the next moment he was gone. The par¬ 
son’s wire sent Dorothy to bed—for In the days of 
Pamela and Clarissa It was within the scope of 
maternal authority to seDd a daughter of twenty- 
one years of ago to bed—and Immediately sat 
down and began to cry. She had her cry out, and 
then consented to answer her bewildered hus¬ 
band’s inquiries, she told him how her suspi¬ 
cions had been aroused by certain hints and head- 
shakings on the part of Mrs. Jorboys, and how 
she had gone that arternoon to Hammersley de¬ 
termined to have It out with that lady; and how 
Mrs. Jorboys had told her with due solemnity 
thit Matthew Wall’s wickedness was the com¬ 
mon talk of Hammersley, since he was known to 
have a ml3tres9, some low common rubbish picked 
out of a Hammersley gutter, hidden away in Jane 
(Sard's cottage; and how his frequent visits to 
Mrs. Gurd's abode had In the first place aroused 
suspicion, after which he had been watched by 
good and zealous Christians anxious for the re¬ 
pute of their holy Church. 
“ But, how do these spies and watohors know 
that the girl is Matthew’s mistress ?” asked the 
parson. 
“ What elao should she be, William?” exclaimed 
the darno, with an awful shake of the head. 
There was no compounding of spiced drink on 
this Christmas eve. The parson and hts wife sat 
by the fire sad. aDgry, bewildered, altogether 111 
at ease. Dorothy lay awake very unhappy. It 
was not that she suspected her lover of any 
wrong-doing. That was Impossible. She wept 
over the breach between these two whom she 
loved so dearly, and fell asleep at last In the 
midst of a prayer that all might he made right 
again to-morrow. 
’The Misses Jorboys and their mother nodded 
and smirked at Dorothy as they passed her pew 
In their Christmas finery before morning service. 
They marveled to see the girl’s peaceful face, 
after the revelation at which they had assisted on 
the previous afternoon. It was the curate’s turn 
to preach, and he chose for Ills Christmas dis¬ 
course a very familiar text about the charity that 
thlnketh no evil. Matthew Wall was a powerful 
preacher at all times; hut, to-day he seemed as 
one Inspired, aDd the hearts of Mrs. Jorboys and 
her daughters quailed beneath their rlbbon- 
bedlzened stomachers as they heard him. 
“ It was but the common talk I repeated." 
thought the grocer’s dame; *‘ and ’twas for the 
goed of yonder silly child I spoke so plain to her 
mother.” 
The parsonage dinner had been put off till half¬ 
past two o’clock, much to the parson’s discontent, 
in order that there might be time for the visit to 
Llscott Common. 
“ It, goes against me to go near the place where 
the creature lives,” said Mrs. Bolton, when the 
matter was discussed; “but It's best to hear the 
truth from Jane Gurd.” 
Mrs. Gurd was the widow of a Hammersley 
tradesman who had died In extreme poverty. She 
lived partly by her own labor, partly on charity, 
and was supposed to be a decent sort of person. 
The day was clear and bright. Mr, Wall and 
the vicar met Mrs. Bolton and her daughter at 
the gates of the churchyard; Matthew offered 
his arm to Dorothy, and the mother did not, Inter¬ 
fere to prevent the girl taking It. In sober truth, 
the dame was somewhat shaken by the young 
man’s firmness, and she had been not a little 
melted by that eloquent discourse on the charity 
that thlnketh no evil. 
This walk was not unpleasant to Dorothy, In 
spite of the cloud that darkened her horizon. Mr. 
Wall, with a rare delicacy, avoided all allusion to 
the business of the last evening. He talked of his 
palish work. In which Dorothy was deeply Inter¬ 
ested. The parson and his wife trudged after the 
young people, both silent. 
“ He could never take us to that house If he 
was the wicked wretch Mrs. Jorboys would have 
me think him,” the darne thought with some 
sense of remorse. Her confidence in her Inform¬ 
ant was beginning to falter. She had always 
liked Matthew; even when most til-pleased that 
her daughter should make so poor a match. 
They came to the humble little cottage. Mat¬ 
thew lifted the latch and entered, followed by hts 
three companions. Jane Gurd was nodding In a 
roomy old chair by the chimney-corner, a girl 
was sitting by a window staring out at the com¬ 
mon. Such a girl! If this was Matthew Wall’s 
fancy. It was a passing strange caprice. The girl 
was the ugliest specimen of womankind on which 
Mrs. Bolton had ever looked. There was Indeed 
something more than common ugliness la the 
vacant face, the heavy lower Jaw, the low narrow 
forehead, scant sandy hair, and thick-set lumpish 
figure. The girl escaped by very little from be¬ 
ing a monster. 
“ I have brought the vicar and his lady to see 
Betty, Mrs. Gurd," said the curate, as the widow 
stood up and curtsied to the quality. 
The girl neither rose nor turned her head at the 
entrance or strangers. A figure of stone could 
not have been more still than this clumsy peasant 
girl. 
“You have not taught the creature manners, 
Matthew Wall,” Bald the outraged matron, “or 
she’d be quicker to Bbow her reverence for her 
betters.” 
The curate smiled, and turned with a gentle 
compassionate look to the monster by the win¬ 
dow. 
“Bless your dear heart, ma’am,” cried the 
widow Gurd, “ Betty, knows no more of your hon¬ 
ors’ coming in at that door than the Emperor of 
Chaney.” 
<i what!” cried the dame; “ can’t the creature 
see us?” 
“ Lord, no, ma’am; she’s stone blind.” 
“But 6he can hear us, at any rate?” 
“ Not she, ma’am; the postes isn’t deafer.” 
“ Bute-but she can speak, I suppose ?” 
“ Four words, ma'am, as Mr. Wall has taught 
her In this last six weeks. The Lord knows how 
he found the patience and the cleverness to do 
It." 
“Blind, deaf, and dumb!" cried the vicar’s 
wife, aghast. “ O, Matthew Wall, can you for¬ 
give me?” 
“ With all my heart, dear madam. It was but 
a foolish mistake of the Hammersley rolkand 
the curate held out his honest hand to the woman 
who hod wronged hltn. “ Yes, poor Betty yonder 
Is blind and deaf and dumb. I found her In one 
of the back slums of the town, worse treated than 
a dog; for the sorriest cur has Borne ragamuffin 
that will stand by him; and Betty had no friend. 
She was beaten, starved, kept In a hole llko a rat 
—a horror to look at, a horror to think of. I told 
those she belonged to that It was a sinful niece of 
work, and they only laughed ai me. 1 told them 
It was against the law; but the law Is a slow 
business, and they snapped their fingers at my 
talk of constables and Justices of the peace. 
What could I do to help the poor wretch ? They 
called her Idiot Betty, and said she wasn't worth 
the bite and sup they gave her. I asked if I was 
free to take her away. They said yes, aud wel¬ 
come too. So I brought her to Darao Gurd. The 
good soul was willing to take the charge of her 
and give her a comfortable shelter for nothing, 
and her bit of victuals costs but a few shillings a 
week. She was a little Btrange and difficult to 
manage at first, from never having known kind¬ 
ness since her wretched cradle, but she soon got 
to understand we meant well by her, and between 
us we have taught her a good deal.” 
“ Between US!” cried the widow; “ ’twas all 
your doing, first and last, Muster Wall.” 
“No one need call her Idiot Betty now,” con¬ 
tinued the curate; “she has learnt to make 
baskets and rush mats, and can ask by signs for 
what she wants.” 
As he said this, the curate went softly towards 
the place where the girl sat, with the winter 
light shining on her dull sightless face. As he 
came close behind her chair the face changed all 
at ouce, and when he laid his hand gently upon 
her head, It was the face of a creature with a 
soul. The dull common clay—the mindless lump 
of Ill-used humanity-brightened Into life be¬ 
neath that pitying hand. Here was a Pygmalion 
who might well be proud of his work. 
“I havebeeu teaching her to talk,"said Matthew, 
“and I have hopes that she will do something In 
that way by-and-by. She can say four wordSr- 
God, bread, mother (meaning the kind-hearted 
widow there), and parson (meaning me)." 
He put hls hand upon the girl’s clumsy fingers. 
She understood the sign, and obeyed it. Her 
mouth opened like a box, and a sound came out 
of it—aloud, harsh, snapping, disagreeable sound, 
which was meant for the word “ parson." It was 
more startling than pleasant, but to Matthew 
Wall It was sweeter than music. 
" You’d never guess the trouble he had to bring 
her to that, your honors,” said Mrs. Gurd, proud 
of this successful performance. 
Mrs. Bolton took a seven-shilling piece from her 
capacious pocket, and bestowed It upon the widow. 
" She shall want for nothing while I am alive,” 
cried the mollified matron; and then she turned 
to Matthew and kissed him. It was an audible 
smack, that resounded In the cottage-chamber. 
“ God bless you, Mattbew Wall!” she said; “ I’d 
rather see my Dolly the wife of so good a man 
than riding In the squire’s chariot.” 
--»+-+-- 
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