"Give them to me," said Anselmo, firmly; "I will take care of her."
"May God reward you; the sooner you get her out of my house the happier I shall be."
The woman hurried into the house, and Anselmo handed the invalid's daughter the medicine he had bought and waited for the return of the virago. In less than five minutes she returned and handed the ex-priest a package of papers.
"Where can I look through them?" he asked, uneasily.
"Oh, come into the kitchen."
Anselmo accepted her invitation, and by the flickering light of a tallow candle he unfolded the yellow and withered papers.
One of the papers contained a passport for the work-man, Jean Zild, and his daughter Jane, made out by the commune of Sitzheim in Alsace. When Anselmo read this he grew pale and nearly fell to the floor in a faint.
"The reading seems to overtax your strength," said the woman giggling. "Zilda has travelled a great deal, and maybe you have met her before."
"I hardly think so," stammered Anselmo.
In company with the virago, Anselmo re-entered the sick-room, and, laying his hand on the young girl's shoulder, he said: