"No, sir. I had one, but it was bought last week. There's 'Fatherless Fanny,' sir; that's a very nice book; it was thought a deal of some years ago. And there's the 'Water Witch,' by Cooper. That's good, too."
I remembered the voice now. It was that of Leah's mysterious visitor of the night before, who had been curiously inquisitive about me. Recognition came upon me with a shock, and opened up a new fear.
Taking the "Water Witch"—for which I paid fourpence—I walked on again. Could it be possible that Tom Heriot was passing himself off for me? Why, this would be the veriest folly of all. But no; that was altogether impossible.
Anxious and uneasy, I turned about again and again. The matter ought to be set at rest, yet I knew not how to do it.
I entered the shop, which contained two small counters: the one covered with papers, the other with smoking gear. Lee stood behind the former, serving a customer, who was inquiring for last week's number of the Fireside Friend. Behind the other counter sat a young girl, pretty and modest. I turned to her.
"Will you give me a packet of bird's-eye?"
"Yes, sir," she answered in pleasant tones; and, opening a drawer, handed me the tobacco, ready wrapped up. It would do for Watts. Bird's-eye, I knew, was his favourite mixture.
"Thank you, sir," she said, returning me the change out of a florin. "Anything else, sir?"
"Yes; a box of wax matches."
But the matches were not to be found, and the girl appealed to her father.