Moll shuts the door and shoots the bolt, then tripping behind me into the light she casts back her hood and flings her arms round her father's neck with a peal of joyful laughter.
"What!" cries I. "Why, what can have brought you here?"
"Why, I knew you'd have nothing to give my poor old dad but mouldy cheese, so I've brought you a brace of partridges, if you please, sir," says she, concluding in her feigned voice, as she emptied the ham, pasty, and partridges all higgledy-piggledy out of the slip on to the table.
"But, Mrs. Godwin--" says I, in alarm.
"Oh, call me Moll," cries she, wildly. "Let me be myself for this one night."
CHAPTER XXIX.
Of the subtile means whereby Simon leads Mr. Godwin to doubt his wife.
Again must I draw upon matter of after-knowledge to show you how all things came to pass on this fatal night.
When Mr. Godwin reached London, he went to Sir Peter Lely's house in Lincoln's Inn, to know if he was still at Hatfield, and there learning he was gone hence to Hampton, and no one answering for certainty when he would return, Mr. Godwin, seeing that he might linger in London for days to no purpose, and bethinking him how pale and sorrowful his dear wife was when they parted, concludes to leave his picture at Sir Peter Lely's and post back to Chislehurst, counting to give his wife a happy surprise.
About eight o'clock he reaches the Court, to find all shut and barred by the prudent housekeeper, who, on letting him in (with many exclamations of joy and wonder), falls presently to sighing and shaking her head, as she tells how her mistress has lain abed since dinner, and is sick of the biliaries.