Twill. Me, sir, not I, sir—I only——
Wid. Go and lay the table for supper. (Twill picks up Mary White’s letter from the floor, twists it into an allumette, and lighting it at the candle, lights with it the lamp on table at back. Widgetts walking about in a state of agitation and endeavouring to sing.) It’s an awful business; but at all events, they can’t charge me with the deed. I have her letter to prove she made away with herself; that will clear me. (Searches his pockets hastily.) Where is it? What have I done with it? (Looking about the floor.) Eh, no, no! Twill, Twill, have you seen a letter lying about here?
Twill. Letter! I found a piece of crumpled paper on the floor, that I’ve lighted the lamp with; there’s a bit of it left though.
(Gives him a fragment of the burnt letter)
Wid. (Glances hastily at it.) Oh, heivings, you’ve lighted the lamp, and snuffed out the candle of my precious existence!
Twill. Why, what’s the matter, Mr. Widgetts? You are going to faint. Stop, till I’ll fetch you a glass of water from the water-butt.
Wid. (Interposing to prevent Twill going to the kitchen.) Water! Forbear!
Twill. Bless me, how dreadful you look.
Wid. Do I? Ah, very likely! I’ve been seized with a sudden swimming in the water-butt—the head—the head, I mean.
Twill. By my sowl, I see how it is—the murder’s out.