"Yes, they said their letters would be here to meet me. This is quite plain, from Will Smith; this I can scarcely decipher; but it's—yes, it's Mrs. Gower's writing; and this from a namesake of yours, Mr. Jones. Ah, it's good to see even these scraps. I could preach sermons on the wickedness of my jailers," he said, weakly, "but now, at once, before they come back, take my address here, on——"
"How dare you enter my roof! it is more than flesh and blood can stand," said Mrs. Cole, entering stealthily, her face in a flame with rage—a virago, from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot, and arrayed, with her usual contempt for harmonious coloring, in pea-green satin, jet trimmings, with crimson bows.
"Calm yourself, Mrs. Cole; we are in the presence of a sick man," said Silas, with intense pity for the invalid, and endeavoring to curb his own tongue.
"Don't dare to address me, but get out of my house immediately; there, follow your bonnet, Sarah Kane," she said, furiously, pitching her bonnet and satchel into the hall, on which some change rolling therefrom, she was the richer by a half a sovereign, which, stealthily picking up, with an inward chuckle, she slipped into her boot.
"What's all the racket about upstairs? Wait a few moments, Lang," said Stone, who, on returning, ascertained he had been waiting for him in the kitchen for a full hour, they having missed each other in the morning.
Sarah Jones, in nervous haste to be gone, picked up her bonnet and satchel, taking the hand of Mr. Cole in good night.
"Remember! and here is my address," he whispered nervously.
But the woman he has married is too sharp for them; for, on Sarah turning from the bedside, she snatched the paper, tearing it into fragments.
"Good night, Mr. Cole. I am truly sorry for you; you are too good for the inmates of this house."
"Again you dare to trespass," said Stone, meeting them on the stairs, turning and following them down.