"Cannot stand it? I don't see anything that you cannot stand. You surprise me."
"Not half as much as you surprise us. We know all about it. It was him," and she pointed to me, "that knocked the ruffian down; it was him that he was about to stab when the watchman broke his arm; and it is she, uncle, Mrs. De Vrai, his wife, who is the mother of Little Katy; now, you know all about it; we know all about it."
"No, not all, for he told me, that he believed his other wife was in this city, also, married here, and he wanted that I should look her up, too; and tell her where, perhaps, she may find her child."
"Tell her," said he, "that I left it with my brother, near Belfast, an Irish farmer, by the name of William Brentnall."
"William Brentnall!" said Agnes, her eyes opening with wild surprise.
"I do think," said Mr. Lovetree, "that I have lost my senses, or else some of the rest of you have. First, one, and then the other, fairly screams out some exclamation as though I were a conjurer, and you could cot comprehend my words or actions. Have you done now, shall I go on?"
"Yes, yes, uncle; I am dying with curiosity, and as for Agnes, she looks the very picture of wonder."
"Indeed I feel so."
"Well, I don't understand why, but I suppose I might as well proceed. 'Tell her,' said he, 'that he is well known and easily found, and that I left the child with him, telling him that it was mine, and that its mother was dead.' Then I was a little surprised, for I thought his name was De Vrai, 'but that,' he said, 'was an assumed one, the name by which he married the woman that I knew, because he dared not marry her by his own name. Then, I asked him what was her name, who I should look for, and who she should inquire for, to find her child? Then he took a little card out of his pocket, as though he would write her name, and then he seemed to recollect his broken arm, and said, with a groan, 'my writing days are over, and all my days nearly.' Then, he told me, to take the card and write, and so I did, here it is—'this is the mother's name, and this is her daughter's, upon the truth of a dying man—tell her so, beg her to forgive and forget the dead.'"
"What are the names? Do tell us, uncle."