"Damn it, Quirky, don't say so!" said Macfarisee, forgetting himself in his anger, "after all the trouble this old woman has given me; confound her obstinacy, that declined a more legal form until it is now too late."
"There will assuredly be a row about it; at least, unpleasant speculations."
"But I shall leave it in the custody of the niece, Amy Lee, and that will lessen all suspicion."
"A good idea—you are a lucky fellow."
"Hush," said Macfarisee, suddenly; "that boy Ellis is there—the devil take him!"
"Where?"
"At the table, reading—Shakspear, I have no doubt, though I have often told him that poetry is a device of the evil one. Mr. Ellis," he added in his blandest voice, handing me the folded document, "seal up this and address it to Miss Lee; a desk is open there, and you will find materials."
"In what way shall I do it?" I stammered, somewhat confused by having been forced to overhear a conversation so singular in character.
"Do it—do it—what d'ye mean?" asked Quirky with great crossness of manner.
"Young man," added our Nathaniel, "the scripture sayeth, 'whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it, with thy might.' Seal it up with Mrs. Rose's seal, which I see lying there on the desk, and address it to her niece."