and so strict in his notions, that he had married thedaughter of a woman who drank. He need never know that, for Jill wouldnot tell. The secret, the dark, terrible secret would be safely buriedand Jill would have a happy life. Poll. had gone away quite sure thatthis would be the case.
The knowledge had stayed with her during the two or three miserable dayswhich had passed since she had left Howard's Buildings. Poll was agreat deal more ill than she had any idea of. Her constant pain wascaused by a terrible malady; her fine constitution was being secretlyundermined, and she was not at all fit for the hard, roaming,comfortless life to which she had voluntarily sacrificed herself.
She was in the state when she needed the tenderest care and the mostloving nursing. Jill had done everything that a daughter could do forher mother's comfort; she had given her good and nourishing meals; shehad seen that she clothed herself well and rested well; in short, shehad surrounded her with a life of comparative refinement and comfort.
Even in that life Poll could scarcely endure her own sufferings; howmuch greater were they now, when she was going through all the hardshipswhich a roaming existence to a woman in her class meant!
She slept in a common lodging-house at night; she ate when she washungry; and whenever the terrible thirst seized her she gratified itwithout a moment's thought of self-control.
Therefore the three days which had passed had made sad havoc in Poll;she looked years older, her dark face had lost all its comeliness, itwas drawn and haggard, and there were many white streaks in her thickraven-black hair. She was going down the hill very fast, bothphysically and mentally. She knew it, poor soul, and yet until thismoment she had never repented of the step she had taken. She had doneit with her eyes open, and she said to herself morning, noon, and night:
"I ain't sorry, for I'm giving my Jill, the best gel as ever breathed, ahappy life."
But now Poll's head did reel, and Poll's limbs almost refused to keepher suffering body upright. She had made her sacrifice in vain, for insome way, some extraordinary, unaccountable way, Nat had found out hersecret.
Nat knew that Jill was the daughter of a woman who debased herself bydrink. The knowledge had come to him, and it had all the worst effectswhich Poll had dreaded; he was very angry, he was reckless in his anger.
Susy said that Nat himself would now go to the bad. Notwithstanding,therefore, Poll's sacrifice, Jill's life would be wrecked.
For some little time Mrs Robinson staggered down the ugly slum intowhich she had entered, then she ran against a wall, too dull and dazedto proceed another step. A child came up and touched her on the arm--apinched gutter child, who looked up at her with big eyes partly ofaffright, partly of indifference.
"Shall I take yer to the nearest public?" she said; "do you want anotherdrop? You're half seas over now; mother's orful when she's only halfseas over. You come along to the public and have another drop, and thenyou won't know nothink; you'll be all right then."
"So you think I'm drunk?" said Poll; "no, I ain't drunk, there's a painhere," panting to her breast, "and a swimming here," clasping her handto her forehead; "but I ain't took enough to make me even half seasover. You seem a good-natured sort of a gel, and maybe ef you lend meyour shoulder to lean on, I'd find a copper in my pocket for yerby-and-by."
The child's eyes glittered when Poll spoke of a copper.
"Yer may lean on me if yer, like, missis," she said.
"I want yer to take me to a place called Howard's Buildings, in NettleStreet," said Poll. "I can't see werry well for the giddiness in myhead; and I can't walk werry well, because I has a sort of a tremblingall over me; but ef I may use your eyes, little gel, and ef you'll be acrutch to me, why I'll give yer thruppence, so there."
"Howard's Buildings," said the child, "I never yered tell on 'em, nor ofNettle Street neither."
"I can guide yer a bit, honey. Ef you'll tell me the names of thestreets as we pass, I'm most sure to know 'em, and I can tell yer efwe're going right or wrong. You come close up to me, little gel, andlet me lean on yer shoulder."
The child came up as she was told, and Poll and she began a slowpilgrimage through the slums.
Poll's head felt as giddy as ever; the pain which seemed to eat into hervery life never ceased, the trembling in her legs grew greater, butstill she struggled forward. As the sacrifice was in vain, and Jill wasmiserable without her, why she might at least go back to Howard'sBuildings. This was the only coherent thought she had. She would goback to Jill; she would kiss Jill once again.
Beyond this desire she was incapable of going. If she only kept onwalking, putting one trembling foot before the other, she would at lastreach the Buildings, and Jill and she would meet again. It seemed toPoll that a whole lifetime had already divided her from the girl; butnow if only she could walk, the dreadful separation would come to anend.
"Can't yer step out a bit faster, missis?" said the little gutter child."You lean hard on me, and step out, missis; we won't get to themBuildings--whatever you call 'em--to-night, ef you don't step out."
"I'll try to, dearie," said Poll; "I'm werry cold though. It's late,ain't it, honey? Seems as ef the place was werry dark."
"Dark," said the child, "it's broad day; why, the sun's shining all overus. Oh, my word, I'm melting up with the heat; and you're no lightweight, missis, I can tell yer."
"Let me grip hold on yer 'and," said Poll. "What street are we in now?"
"What street?" laughed the child; "why we're in the street as we startedin; we ain't gone the length of Sulphur Row."
"Oh, my God!" said Poll, "I thought as we were hours walking, and thatthe night had come; you must let me lean up against somethink, for Ican't see."
"My thruppence first," said the child.
Poll tried to fumble in her pocket; a waggon was heard lumbering downthe street behind them. The driver shouted to the child and woman toget out of the way.
"Oh, missis, come, come!" screamed the little girl; "you're standing inthe road--you'll be run over--let me pull yer on the path leastways."
Poll with a great effort staggered forward. The waggon rushed by,almost grazing her feet.
The next instant the poor creature lay prone on the pavement, allconsciousness having left her. The child uttered a cry and the usualcrowd collected round the prostrate woman.
Two or three policemen came up and examined her.
"Drank," said one of them impressively.
"No, she ain't," said the child; "I asked her that and she said no, sheworn't a bit drank; she had an orful pain and wor werry giddy, and werrytrembling in the limbs, but it won't drink, I tell yer. She spoke realsensible. I know 'em when they drinks, and thet worn't what ailed her.She wanted me to take her to some Buildings or t'other, and she promisedme thruppence. Do you think as I might take it out of her pocket?"
"No, no; get out of this, you little varmint," said the police. Theyexamined Poll more critically, and finally decided to take her on ashutter to the Bearcat hospital: this happened to be SaintBartholomew's.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
Notwithstanding the uses of adversity, it is astonishing how wellprosperity _agrees_ with some people. It has much the same sort ofeffect on them that the sun has on fruit and flowers. All the graceswithin them which have been invisible while the rough winds of adversityblew, now blossom, and show sweet bits of colour, and little tender,gracious perfumes, which no one would have supposed consistent with suchhard, crabbed, in short disagreeable products of nature.
Silas Lynn had all through his life, up to the present day, been visitedby the harsh winds of adversity.
It is true they had not come to him in the form of poverty. He was tooprudent, too hard-working for poverty to have anything to do with him.But a man can suffer adversity without being poor, and Silas's life fromhis cradle up to the present had been a hard one.
Pleasure and he had kept at a distance. The relaxations of existencehad never been permitted to him. In short, his life had been alllessons
and no play.
Silas was aware of this fact himself, but up to the present he hadlooked upon it as a good and healthy sign of his soul's state. Hismother had taught him that chastening is the lot of the Christian.
"Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth," she had said to him so manytimes, that he whispered it to himself with white lips and a haggardlook on his strong face as he bent over her in her coffin.
When his fruit crop failed, and his flowers yielded but poor blooms, herepeated the old text again under his breath, and took comfort from it.
It was a