er care of
the man who now knew she loved him. Not until she had recovered did he
tell her that he had lost his situation at the foundry--the men refused
to work under one who had been tried for murder--and that he was looking
for work elsewhere.

"Mary," he asked, "art thou much bound to Manchester? Would it grieve
thee sore to quit the old smoke-jack?"

"With thee?" was her quiet response.

"I've heard fine things of Canada. Thou knowest where Canada is, Mary?"

"Not rightly--but with thee, Jem"--her voice sank to a
whisper--"anywhere." Then, after a pause, she added, "But father!"

John Barton was smitten, helpless, very near to death. His face was sunk
and worn--like a skull, with yet a suffering expression that skulls have
not! Crime and all had been forgotten by his daughter when she saw him;
fondly did she serve him in every way that heart could devise.

Jem had known from the first that Barton was the murderer of Harry
Carson. Several days before the murder Barton had borrowed Jem's gun,
and Jem had seen the truth at the moment of his arrest. When Mary came
to tell him that her father wished to speak to him, Jem could not guess
what was before him, and did not try to guess.

When they entered the room, Mary saw all at a glance. Her father stood
holding on to a chair as if for support. Behind him sat Job Legh,
listening; before him stood the stern figure of Mr. Carson.

"Don't dare to think that I shall be merciful; you shall be
hanged--hanged--man!" said Mr. Carson, with slow, emphasis.

"I've had far, far worse misery than hanging!" cried Barton. "Sir, one
word! My hairs are grey with suffering."

"And have I had no suffering?" interrupted Mr. Carson. "Is not my boy
gone--killed--out of my sight for ever? He was my sunshine, and now it
is night! Oh, my God! comfort me, comfort me!" cried the old man aloud.

Barton lay across the table broken-hearted. "God knows I didn't know
what I was doing," he whispered. "Oh, sir," he said wildly, "say you
forgive me?"

"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us,"
said Job solemnly.

Mr. Carson took his hands from his face.

"Let my trespasses be unforgiven, so that I may have vengeance for my
son's murder."

John Barton lay on the ground as one dead.

When Mr. Carson had left the house, he leant against a railing to steady
himself, for he was dizzy with agitation. He looked up to the calm,
majestic depths of the heavens, and b