She then lifted up the glass. As she did so, something met her eye. It appeared to be a thin piece of paper, which had been concealed between the plate of the glass and the wooden back.
“Mercy on us! what is this?” exclaimed Bessie.
She drew out the paper, and held it forth. Then, with a sudden scream, exclaimed, in a hissing whisper—
“A hundred pound note!”
“Heavens above! what do you mean?” cried the miserable wife.
“Well, seeing’s believing,” answered her companion. “I’m not much of a judge of these matters; but if I am not mistaken, this is a genuine Bank of England note for one hundred pounds.”
“How came it there? This looks like sorcery. Ah, Bessie, dear, you are playing me some trick. It cannot be.”
“But, my dear, it is. Look here.” She drew towards the side of the bed, and placed the note in the hands of Mrs. Bristow.
“Well, this is most wonderful—most incomprehensible. Can you account for it?” said the latter.
“Indeed, I cannot. Where did you get this glass from?”