“I saw her dead, sir, with my own eyes.”
“You're sure she wasn't shamming?”
“She couldn't have shammed anything so peaceful.”
The baronet laughed.
“Believe me, sir,” said Richard, “she's dead—and by this time buried by the parish.”
“God bless my soul! Well, it's none of my fault!”
“She ate and drank her own children!” said Richard with a groan, for his strength was failing him. He sank into a chair.
“I will give you a cheque,” said sir Wilton, rising, and going to a writing-table in the window. “I will give you twenty pounds for them in the meantime—and then we'll see—we'll see!—that is,” he added, turning to Richard, “if you swear by God that you have told me nothing but the truth!”
“I swear,” said Richard solemnly, “by all my hopes in God the saviour of men, that I have not wittingly uttered a word that is untrue or incorrect.”
“That's enough. I'll give you the cheque.”