"O yes, miss! Now I understand. I've had such people come in past years. But it didn't strike me that you looked of a sort to require blood-turning. What's the complaint? The wrong kind for this, I'll be bound."
"My arm." She reluctantly showed the withered skin.
"Ah!—'tis all a-scram!" said the hangman, examining it.
"Yes," said she.
"Well," he continued, with interest, "that is the class o' subject, I'm bound to admit. I like the look of the place; it is truly as suitable for the cure as any I ever saw. 'Twas a knowing-man that sent 'ee, whoever he was."
"You can contrive for me all that's necessary?" she said breathlessly.
"You should really have gone to the governor of the jail, and your doctor with 'ee, and given your name and address—that's how it used to be done, if I recollect. Still, perhaps, I can manage it for a trifling fee."
"O, thank you! I would rather do it this way, as I should like it kept private."
"Lover not to know, eh?"
"No—husband."