he could have read them.
“What amount of small change, Missis,” he said, with an abstracted air, after a little meditation, “might you call a morsel of money?”
Hurriedly emptying her pocket, old Betty laid down on the table, a shilling, and two sixpenny pieces, and a few pence.
“If I was to let you go instead of handing you over safe to the Parish,” said the Deputy, counting the money with his eyes, “might it be your own free wish to leave that there behind you?”
“Take it, Master, take it, and welcome and thankful!”
“I’m a man,” said the Deputy, giving her back the letter, and pocketing the coins, one by one, “as earns his living by the sweat of his brow;” here he drew his sleeve across his forehead, as if this particular portion of his humble gains were the result of sheer hard labour and virtuous industry; “and I won’t stand in your way. Go where you like.”
She was gone out of the lock-house as soon as he gave her this permission, and her tottering steps were on the road again. But, afraid to go back and afraid to go forward; seeing what she fled