"Yes, but he hasn't sent me any, and I have no more to give. I'm a poor man, Milly."
"What was in that letter Jim sent you?"
"That letter?" exclaimed Old Flick, almost instinctively putting his hand to the pocket in which it was hidden.
"Yes, that letter," repeated Milly, her quick eyes noting the old man's action.
"There was nothing in it, Milly, upon my--my honour, and I burnt it."
"All right," Milly said, quietly, rising. "I suppose there was nothing in it, as you say, for you never tell a lie; and I suppose you burnt it, for you never tell a lie; and I suppose you haven't got any money, for you never tell a lie. That's right, ain't it?"
"Yes, that's right," he exclaimed, sullenly.
"And you can tell me what's to become of Jim's baby--for it is Jim's, you know. How am I to keep it?"
"How do I know what's to become of it?"
"I'll kill it," Milly said, composedly.