Now they emerged from the court; but it was yet rather an early hour in the morning, and but very few passengers were in the streets. The only person that was tolerably close to them was an elderly woman, and Mrs. Oakley much as she panted for an opportunity of separating herself from Lupin, felt that the time to do so had not yet come.
On they went, in the direction of Mrs. Oakley's house, that house that she now began to feel she had so much neglected, to look after what, in the language of scripture, might truly have been termed "Strange Idols"—that home which she now looked to as a haven of safety from the terror of death itself.
"How silent you are, sister," said Lupin.
"Yes, I was thinking."
"Of what?" he said, fiercely.
"Of how much I should be able to take from Mr. Oakley's till, to bring to you, this day week."
"Oh! oh!"
"You may depend, reverend sir, it shall be as much as possible. Of course I must be cautious, though."
"Oh, yes—yes."
They had now reached within a few paces of the corner of the street, and yet Mrs. Oakley had seen no one upon whom, from their appearance, she thought she could rely to call to for aid against the murderer. Suddenly then round the corner, there came a bulky form. The heavy tread of some one of unusual weight sounded upon the street pavement.