He was the only one who had spoken to her with hope that she might
win her way back to virtue. His words had lingered in her heart
with a sort of call to heaven, like distant Sabbath bells, although
in her despair she had turned away from his voice. He was the only
one who had spoken to her kindly. The murder, shocking though it
was, was an absent, abstract thing, on which her thoughts could not,
and would not dwell: all that was present in her mind was Jem's
danger, and his kindness.
Then Mary came to remembrance. Esther wondered till she was sick of
wondering, in what way she was taking the affair. In some manner it
would be a terrible blow for the poor, motherless girl; with her
dreadful father, too, who was to Esther a sort of accusing angel.
She set off towards the court where Mary lived, to pick up what she
could there of information. But she was ashamed to enter in where
once she had been innocent, and hung about the neighbouring streets,
not daring to question, so she learnt but little; nothing, in fact,
but the knowledge of John Barton's absence from home.
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