The lawyer, at a nod from me, withdrew.
"Now," said she, as the door closed, "speak up and tell me what's the matter."
"The matter, madam," I answered, "is Addison. He's an escaped convict, and no more a clergyman than—excuse me—you are."
I declare that, still, not an eyelash of her quivered: but her ass of a husband broke in—
"I don't believe it! I won't believe it! Tell us how you came by the notes."
"James, I beg you not to be a fool. Has he cut and run?" she asked.
"He has."
"You can find him?"
"No," said I, "and I don't want to. But I can get a message conveyed that will probably reach and warn him—if he has not thought of it already—to send a letter to the Bishop formally resigning his living."