"It is a Judas I feel, and if I don't get it off my
mind it will be too much for me: I can't bear it, sir."
"Then out with it, Mrs. Wallop," said the imperative doctor. "It is
nothing very private, or you would not advertise it by crying at the
corner of the street."
"No, sir, but it shames me to tell it, that it do, though you're one o'
them that well knows what flesh and blood comes to when the temptation's
strong. I've took money, Mr. Carnegie, wage for a month, to go nowheres
else but to the rectory; and nobody ill there, only a' might happen. It
never occurred to me the cruel sin I'd done till Robb came along,
begging and praying of me to go to them forlorn poor creturs at
Marsh-End. For it is the fever, sir. Mr. Wiley got wind of it, and sent
Robb over to make sure."
"Lost in misery they are. Fling away your dirty hire, and be off to
Marsh-End, Mrs. Wallop. Crying and denying your conscience will
disagree very badly with your inside," said Mr. Carnegie, angry contempt
in his voice.
"I will sir, and be glad to. It ain't Christian--no, nor human natur--to
sit with hands folded when there is sick folk wanting help. Poor Judas!"
she went on in soliloquy as the doctor trotted off. "I reckon his
feelings changed above a bit between looking at the thirty pieces of
silver and wishing he had 'un, and finding how heavy they was on his
soul afore he was drove to get rid of 'em, and went out and hanged
himself.
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