It's just
like transporting him. I thought you'd done something for us, you looked so
glad."
"Dearest mother, it _is_ something. He is not to be subjected to
imprisonment or trial. I must go and tell him, only I must beckon to Mr.
Buxton first. But when he comes, do show him how thankful we are for his
mercy to Edward."
Mrs. Browne's murmurings, whatever was their meaning, were lost upon
Maggie. She ran through the court, and up the slope, with the lightness of
a lawn; for though she was tired in body to an excess she had never been
before in her life, the opening beam of hope in the dark sky made her
spirit conquer her flesh for the time.
She did not stop to speak, but turned again as soon as she had signed to
Mr. Buxton to follow her. She left the house-door open for his entrance,
and passed out again through the kitchen into the space behind, which was
partly an uninclosed yard, and partly rocky common. She ran across the
little green to the shippon, and mounted the ladder into the dimly-lighted
loft. Up in a dark corner Edward stood, with an old rake in his hand.
"I thought it was you, Maggie!" said he, heaving a deep breath of relief.
"What have you done? Have you agreed to write the letter? You've done
something for me, I see by your looks."
"Yes! I have told Mr. Buxton all. He is waiting for you in the parlor. Oh!
I knew he could not be so hard!" She was out of breath.
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