On a night when, from sheer weariness of soul, she fell from clatter toward sleep, of a sudden Hedward spoke. "Marier—" he said.
"Well?"
"You ain't give me a kiss lately. Kiss me now."
"Don't be a fool. I'm sick an' tired. Go to sleep, if you can sleep, with everything—"
"Kiss me, I tell you!" He had never commanded like that before. She marvelled, feared a little, and obeyed.
In the morning, when she awoke, he had already gone downstairs. This was as usual. When she followed, however, he was not to be found in the house. The shop shutters had been taken down, and the windows carefully cleaned, although it was not the regular window-cleaning day; but the door was shut. On the sitting-room table were two papers, one within the other. The first was written with many faults and smudges, and this was how it ran:—
"the deed and testiment of Ed. Munsey this is to cirtiffy that i make over all my property to my belovd wife stock bisness and furnitur so help me god all detts i keep to pay myself and my wife is not ansrable for them and certiffy that I O U Minchin and co 9 pound 4/7½ Jones and son 6 pound 13/2 and settrer all other detts me and not my wife I O U
Ed. Munsey"
The other was a letter:—