In the parlour, Mrs. Miller set little Gerty down, and the
child, giddy and confused with her sudden waking, and being thus
carried through the chill morning air, climbed up on the trim little
sofa, and curling herself into a corner of it, sat quite motionless.
Then, her agitation finding vent in tears, Mrs. Miller told Susan
Jernam what had befallen. It was this:--
Just as day was dawning, a dog-cart, driven by a gentleman's servant,
had come to her door--the dog-cart was now standing at a little
distance from Mrs. Jernam's house--and she had been called out by the
servant, and told that he had been sent to bring her over to Plymouth,
with as little delay as possible. It appeared that her brother, who had
gone to Plymouth after depositing the child with her, had been run over
in the street by a heavy coal-waggon, and severely injured. He had been
carried to a hospital, and was for some time insensible. When he
recovered his speech he was delirious, and the surgeons pronounced his
case hopeless. He was now in a dying state, but conscious; and had been
visited by a clergyman named Colburne, the man's master, who had
induced him to express contrition for his past life, and to make such
reparation as now lay in his power. The first step towards this, as he
informed Mr. Colburne, was seeing his sister. There was no time to be
lost; the man's life was fast ebbing; it was only a matter of hours;
and the good clergyman, who had been with the dying man far into the
night before he had succeeded in inducing him to consent to this step,
hurried home, and sent his servant off to Allanbay before daybreak.
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