Melchior caught the address, and then turned the letter over on the other side, as it lay on the table. "Mrs Watson," said he.
"Heavens! do you know my name?" cried the woman.
"Mrs Watson, I do not require to read your son's letter—I know its contents." He then turned over his book, and studied for a few seconds. "Your son is alive."
"Thank God!" cried she, clasping her hands, and dropping her reticule.
"But you must not expect his return too soon—he is well employed."
"Oh! I care not—he is alive—he is alive! God bless you—God bless you!"
Melchior made a sign to me, pointing to the five guineas and the reticule; and I contrived to slip them into her reticule, while she sobbed in her handkerchief.
"Enough, madam; you must go, for others require my aid."
The poor woman rose, and offered the ring.
"Nay, nay, I want not thy money; I take from the rich, that I may distribute to the poor—but not from the widow in affliction. Open thy bag." The widow took up her bag, and opened it. Melchior dropped in the ring, taking his wand from the table, waved it, and touched the bag. "As thou art honest, so may thy present wants be relieved. Seek, and thou shalt find."