“And how is Miss Ally?”
“Oh, Harry! Really!”
“Myself as large as life. You don’t look half pleased, Ally. But I have nout but good news for you to-day. You’re something richer this week than you were last.”
“What is it, Harry? Tell me what you mean?”
“So I will. You know that charge on Carwell—a hundred and forty pounds a year—well, that’s dropped in. That old witch is dead—ye might ’a seen it in the newspaper, if you take in one—Bertha Velderkaust. No love lost between ye. Eh?”
“Oh, Harry! Harry! don’t,” said poor Alice, pale, and looking intensely pained.
“Well, I won’t then; I didn’t think ’twould vex you. Only you know what a head devil that was—and she’s dead in the old place, Hoxton. I read the inquest in the Times. She was always drinkin’. I think she was a bit mad. She and the people in the back room were always quarrelling; and the father’s up for that and forgery. But ’twasn’t clear how it came about. Some swore she was out of her mind with drink, and pitched herself out o’ the window; and some thought it might ’a bin that chap as went in to rob her, thinkin’ she was stupid; and so there was a tussle for’t—she was main strong, ye know—and he chucked her out. Anyhow she got it awful, for she fell across the spikes of the area-rails, and she hung on them with three lodged in her side—the mad dog-fox, she was!”
“Oh, Harry! How shocking! Oh! pray don’t!” exclaimed Alice, who looked as if she was going to faint.
“Well, she lay there, without breath enough to screech, twistin’ like a worm—for three hours, it’s thought.”
“Oh! Harry—pray don’t describe it; don’t, I implore. I feel so ill.”