"I'm afraid yer can't, Cinderella; and a wery ugly business it is fur yer; it 'ud bring yer in guilty in hany court wot hiver."
"I know that, Pickles—I know that only too well; that's why I'm here."
"An' you must stay yere until ye're proved hinnercent."
"Yes."
"Well, that may be awkward—not fur us, but fur poor, little tender Giles. He thinks as ye're gone to the country, and I give him to understand as yer would not be back fur maybe a day or two. But he's hall on a quiver fur yer to come back now; he's hall on a tremble to know wot the country is like. He says ye're to get a cottage as have a big winder in it, fur he wants to see the stars o' nights. Now, I think by the looks o' Giles as he'll fade away wery quick ef yer don't come back soon."
"Oh, I know it—I know it!" said Sue. "What shall I do? Ef I do go back I shall be tuk ter prison. Oh! oh! oh!" and she began to weep.
"Don't cry, you silly! Cryin' never mended no broken bones. You dry your eyes and listen when the oracle speaks."
"I will," said Sue, endeavoring to check her sobs.
"Well then, yer hinnercence must be proved. The way to prove yer hinnercence is to find hout who put that 'ere trinket in yer pocket."
"Oh Pickles! I don't—I don't think hany one could be so wicked."