The Freemason's Daughter: A Novel — page 231: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

224 THE FREEMASONS DAUGHTER. ‘He lives!’? she exclaimed; “he is not dead! God has heard my prayer—my children will not be fatherless ! ”” Overwrought nature could support no more: with an hysterical laugh, she sank upon her knees in grati- tude to that Providence which had not abandoned her to the worst of misery—poverty, endured alone. The neighbours eagerly raised the body of the weaver from the bed, and bore it gently to the cottage. The air of the yard, pure in comparison with that he had so long breathed, revived him, and he gave un- equivocal signs of life. So fearful an attempt at murder excited the indigna- tion of the population; and Marjoram installed himself at the public-house opposite, to collect evidence against Flin. Amongst the persons he questioned was the wife of the landlord, who deposed to having seen Flin on the Thursday evening, which was the last one he had ever spent in Manchester. ‘‘ But how do you know that it was Thursday?” demanded Marjoram. Not that the date was im- portant, for the fact amounted to nothing. “By a very remarkable occurrence,’ replied the woman, smiling. “* Name it ?”’ “Why, Mr. Small, of the firm of Grindem and Small, passed the evening upstairs in our house; and —no—that’s all.” COniiclooecl SS (SO