Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. Many knew Diane’s disdain for the Beck family as well, “who would take in any stray that arrived mewling at their doorstep. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. " "Afraid?" "Yes. ” She said and began to pace the hard dirt. .
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