heart to her poor little father, and their joke about the lovely woman. So, Bella’s behaviour was very tender and very natural when she kneeled on the brick floor to clasp the child, and when the child, with a child’s admiration of what is young and pretty, fondled the boofer lady.
“Now, my good dear Betty,” said Mrs. Boffin, hoping that she saw her opportunity, and laying her hand persuasively on her arm; “we have come to remove Johnny from this cottage to where he can be taken better care of.”
Instantly, and before another word could be spoken, the old woman started up with blazing eyes, and rushed at the door with the sick child.
“Stand away from me every one of ye!” she cried out wildly. “I see what ye mean now. Let me go my way, all of ye. I’d sooner kill the Pretty, and kill myself!”
“Stay, stay!” said Rokesmith, soothing her. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand too well. I know too much about it, sir. I’ve run from it too many a year. No! Never for me, nor for the child, while there’s water enough in England to cover us!”
The terror, the shame, the passion of horror and repugnance, firing the worn face and perfectly maddening it, would have been a quite terrible sight, if embodied in one old fellow-creature alone. Yet it “crops up”—as our slang goes—my lords and gentlemen and honourable boards, in other fellow-creatures, rather frequently!
“It’s been chasing me all my life, but it shall never take me nor mine alive!” cried old Betty. “I’ve done with ye. I’d have fastened door and window and starved out, afore I’d ever have let ye in, if I had known what ye came for!”
But, catching sight of Mrs. Boffin’s wholesome face, she relented, and crouching down by the door and bending over her burden to hush it,