“And now they’ve gone and done the same’or worse. Before it was my old boat, and now it’s the new one’cut the rope, and away she’s gone. It’s wickedness. Oh my! You should preach and pray against it. There be such a lot of it in the world’and cost me six guineas did that boat.” “I am very sorry to hear of this additional loss,” said the rector. “I suppose the next thing they will say is, I cut my own boat away and let her go out to sea, because I had insured her. But you may tell everyone, pass’n, that I hadn’t insured my boat no more than I had my rick o’ straw. Oh dear! the wickedness there is in the world!” “I wish to see your wife for a moment.” “Zerah’s inside, in a fine take-on. She’s gone about like a weathercock lately, and can’t make enough of Kitty. And now that Kitty is proved to ha’ done all these horrible crimes, she’s in a bad way, I can assure you.” The rector entered the house and found the poor woman. Her former hardness had given way under the troubles she had undergone; her pride had been broken down beneath the burden of the knowledge that her husband had been guilty of setting fire to his stores for the sake of the insurance money, and of the gnawing suspicion that her brother had died in the flames; that he had been remorselessly sacrificed by Pasco to conceal his own guilt. And now that this new conflagration had occurred, and that Kitty was apparently implicated in it, she was nigh in despair. “Mrs. Pepperill,” said the rector, “I have come to you after having dismissed Kitty to rest.” “Rest?” echoed Zerah. “Can she sleep? That is more than I can.” “Yes; so also will you when you have taken the same prescription.” “I want no medicine.” “You will take this. You can do nothing for your niece, can you?” “Nothing but fret,” said Mrs. Pepperill. “That will not help her. You believe her to be innocent?” asked the rector. “I am sure of it.” “Nothing you can say or do will prove it?” “Nothing; but if I’m called to bear witness, and I must speak the truth, then what I say may go against her. That troubles me, terrible. I’m mazed wi’ the thought. You see, I looked, and there was a can’l-end in the lantern when she took it; and I saw there was none at all when she brought back the lantern. I don’t want to say it, as it may go against her; but I can’t go against my oath and against the truth.” “Of course not. Speak out what is true.” “And I can’t have no rest thinkin’, and thinkin’, and frettin’ about it all.” “No, Mrs. Pepperill; but you will rest and sleep peacefully after you have taken my prescription’a sovereign one, as many a vexed soul has found’the only one possible in many a case’‘Cast all your care upon God, for He careth for you.’” CHAPTER LII IN COURT