And the nimble woman of seventy soon laid before them the old cracked teapot, out of which Nance drew the same faded address which she had once shown to Valmai.
"It is horribly faint," said Cardo, a fresh tremor rising in his heart.
"Here it is now," said Nance, placing her shrivelled finger on the paper. "This is where she went from here, when all this trouble came upon her, and everybody pointed the finger of scorn at her; and when she had given up the hope that you would ever come back, sir, she turned to her sister, dear child!"
"I never knew she had a sister!"
"No, nor she didn't know much about her; but I knew, and I told her. Born the same time they were, and a grand lady, who was lodging at Essec Powell's at the time, took the sister away with her, and brought her up as her own daughter, and we have never heard of her since. 'But I will find her, Nance,' she said. 'I will find her! I know I will!'"
"But have you never heard from her?"
"Well, indeed, there was a letter," said Nance, "came soon after she left. Dr. Francis read it to me, and I think I put it in that teapot, but I am not sure; indeed, perhaps Peggie has thrown it away."
"And what did she say?"
"'Oh!' she said, 'I have found my sister, Nance, and you must not be unhappy about me, everybody is so kind to me. If anyone comes to ask for me, say I am here,' but she didn't say where!"
"But the address was at the top of the letter," said Cardo.