“What can this mean?” exclaimed the elder lady. “This poor child can never have been the pupil of robbers!”
“Vice,” said the surgeon, replacing the curtain, “takes up her abode in many temples; and who can say that a fair outside shall not enshrine her?”
“But at so early an age!” urged Rose.
“My dear young lady,” rejoined the surgeon, mournfully shaking his head; “crime, like death, is not confined to the old and withered alone. The youngest and fairest are too often its chosen victims.”
“But, can you—oh! can you really believe that this delicate boy has been the voluntary associate of the worst outcasts of society?” said Rose.
The surgeon shook his head, in a manner which intimated that he feared it was very possible; and observing that they might disturb the patient, led the way into an adjoining apartment.
“But even if he has been wicked,” pursued Rose, “think how young he is; think that he may never have known a mother’s love, or the comfort of a home; that ill-usage and blows, or the want of bread, may have driven him to herd with men who have forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy’s sake, think of this, before you let them drag this sick child to a prison, which in any case must be the grave of all his chances of amendment. Oh! as you love me, and know that I have never felt the want of parents in your goodness and affection, but that I might have done so, and might have been equally helpless and unprotected with this poor child, have pity upon him before it is too late!”
“My dear love,” said the elder lady, as she folded the weeping girl to her bosom, “do you think I would harm a hair of his head?”
“Oh, no!” replied Rose, eagerly.
“No, surely,” said the old lady; “my days are drawing to their close: and may mercy be shown to me as I show it to others! What can I do to save him, sir?”
“Let me think, ma’am,” said the doctor; “let me think.”
Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his pockets, and took several turns up and down the room; often stopping, and balancing himself on his toes, and frowning frightfully. After various exclamations of “I’ve got it now’ and “no, I haven’t,” and as many renewals of the walking and frowning, he at length made a dead halt, and spoke as follows:
“I think if you give me a full and unlimited commission to bully Giles, and that little boy, Brittles, I can manage it. Giles is a faithful fellow and an old servant, I know; but you can make it up to him in a thousand ways, and reward him for being such a good shot besides. You don’t object to that?”
“Unless there is some other way of preserving the child,” replied Mrs. Maylie.
“There is no other,” said the doctor. “No other, take my word for it.”
“Then my aunt invests you with full power,” said Rose, smiling through her tears; “but pray don’t be harder upon the poor fellows than is indispensably necessary.”
“You seem to think,” retorted the doctor, “that everybody is disposed to be hard-hearted to-day, except yourself, Miss Rose. I only hope, for the sake of the rising male sex generally, that you may be found in as vulnerable and soft-hearted a mood by the first eligible young fellow who appeals to your compassion; and I wish I were a young fellow, that I might avail myself, on the spot, of such a favourable opportunity for doing so, as the present.”
“You are as great a boy as poor Brittles himself,” returned Rose, blushing.
“Well,” said the doctor, laughing heartily, “that is no very difficult matter. But to return to this boy. The great point of our agreement is yet to come. He will wake in an hour or so, I dare say; and although I have told that thick-headed constable-fellow downstairs that he mustn’t be moved or spoken to, on peril of his life, I think we may converse with him without danger. Now I make this stipulation—that I shall examine him in your presence, and that, if, from what he says, we judge, and I can show to the satisfaction of your cool reason, that he is a real and thorough bad one (which is more than possible), he shall be left to his fate, without any farther interference on my part, at all events.”