Before it was fairly light, Jem (wide awake, and listening with an
earnest attention he could not deaden, however painful its results
proved) heard a gentle subdued knock at the house door; it was no
business of his, to be sure, to open it, but as Ben slept on, he
thought he would see who the early visitor might be, and ascertain
if there was any occasion for disturbing either host or hostess. It
was Job Legh who stood there, distinct against the outer light of
the street.
"How is she? Eh! poor soul! is that her? No need to ask! How
strange her voice sounds! Screech! screech! and she so low,
sweet-spoken, when she's well! Thou must keep up heart, old boy,
and not look so dismal, thysel."
"I can't help it, Job; it's past a man's bearing to hear such a one
as she is, going on as she is doing; even if I did not care for her,
it would cut me sore to see one so young, and--I can't speak of it,
Job, as a man should do," said Jem, his sobs choking him.
"Let me in, will you?" said Job, pushing past him, for all this time
Jem had stood holding the door, unwilling to admit Job where he
might hear so much that would be suggestive to one acquainted with
the parties that Mary named.
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