'Tell me what it is that worries you,' Mary pleaded again.
'I will, dear. After all perfect trust is the best; nay, it is your due,
for you are brave enough and true enough to be trusted with secrets that
mean life and death. In a word, then, Mary, the cause of my trouble is
that old man we saw the other night.'
'Steadman's uncle?'
'Do you really believe that he is Steadman's uncle?'
'My grandmother told me so,' answered Mary, reddening to the roots of
her hair.
To this girl, who was the soul of truth, there was deepest shame in the
idea that her kinswoman, the woman whom of all the world she most owed
reverence and honour, could be deemed capable of falsehood.
'Do you think my grandmother would tell me an untruth?'
'I do not believe that man is a poor dependent, an old servant's
kinsman, sheltered and cared for in this house for charity's sake.
Forgive me, Mary, if I doubt the word of one you love; but there are
positions in life in which a man must judge for himself. Would Mr.
Steadman's kinsman be lodged as that old man is lodged; would he talk as
that old man talks; and last and greatest perplexity of all, would he
possess a treasure of gold and jewels which must be worth many
thousands?'
'But you cannot know for certain that those things are valuable; they
may be rubbish that this poor old man has scraped together and hoarded
for years, glass jewels bought at country fairs.
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