McLevy by James McLevy Read Free Book Online

for you.”
    “Oh,—for God’s sake, no,” she ejaculated; “I will,—oh yes, sir, be patient,—I will, I will.”
    But she didn’t—she couldn’t. Her whole frame shook, so that her hands seemed palsied, and I am sure she could not have held the end of the string.
    “Well,” said I, drawing in a chair, and seating myself, “shall wait till you are able.”
    The sight of the poor creature was now painful to me, but I had my duty to do, and I knew how much depended on her applying her own hand to this strange work. I sat peaceably and silently, my
eye still fixed upon her. She got into meditation—looked piteously at me, then fearfully at the parcel—approached it—touched it—recoiled from it—touched it again and
again—recoiled;—but I would wait.
    “Why, what is all this about?” said I calmly, and I suspect even with a smile on my face, for I wanted to impart to her at least so much confidence as might enable her to do this one
act, which I deemed necessary to my object. “What is all this about? I only bear this parcel to you, and for aught I know, there may be nothing in it to authorise all this terror. If you are
innocent of crime, Mary, nothing should move you. Come, undo the string.”
    And now, having watched my face, and seen the good-humour on it, she began to draw up a little, and then picked irresolutely at the string.
    “See,” said I, taking out a knife, “this will help you.”
    But whether it was that she had been busy with a knife that morning for another purpose than cutting the bread for her breakfast, I know not; she shrunk from the instrument, and, rather than
touch it, took to undoing the string with a little more resolution. And here I could not help noticing a change that came over her almost of a sudden. I have noticed the same thing in cases where
necessity seemed to be the mother of energy. She began to gather resolution from some thought; and, as it appeared, the firmness was something like new-born energy to overcome the slight lacing of
the parcel. That it was an effort bordering on despair, I doubt not, but it was not the less an effort. Nay, she became almost calm, drew the ends, laid the string upon the table, unfolded the
paper, laid the object bare, and—the effort was gone—fell senseless at my feet.
    I was not exactly prepared for this. I rose, and seeing some spirits in a press, poured out a little, wet her lips, dropped some upon her brow, and waited for her return to consciousness; and I
waited longer than I expected,—indeed, I was beginning to fear I had carried my experiment too far. I thought the poor creature was dead, and for a time I took on her own excitement and fear,
though from a cause so very different. I bent over her, watching her breath, and holding her wrist; at last a long sigh,—oh, how deep!—then a staring of the eyes, and a rolling of the
pupils, then a looking to the table, then a rugging at me as if she thought I had her fate in my hands.
    “Oh, where is it?” she cried. “Take it away; but you will hang me, will you? Say you will not, and I will tell you all.”
    I got her lifted up, and put upon a chair. She could now sit, but such was the horror she felt at the grim leg, torn as it was at the one end, and blue and hideous, that she turned her eyes to
the wall, and I believe her smart cap actually moved by the rising of the black hair beneath it.
    “Mary B——n,” said I, calmly, and in a subdued voice, “you have seen what is in the parcel?”
    “Oh, yes sir; oh, yes,” she muttered.
    “Do you know what it is?”
    “Oh, too well, sir; too well.”
    “Then tell me,” said I.
    “Oh, sir,” she cried, as she threw herself upon the floor on her knees, and grasped and clutched me round my legs and held up her face,—her eyes now streaming with tears, her
cap off, her hair let loose,—”if I do, will you take pity on me, and not hang me?”
    “I can say, at least, Mary,” I replied, “that it will be