"Hush, hush, Aminadab. There is a secret, and you're the only man I would speak of it to."
And Mrs. McPherson rose solemnly and locked the door upon herself and her henchman.
"You know, Aminadab, that my master came from Bombay some years ago, and brought home with him a black wife. Dear, good soul—so kind, so timid, so cheerful too; but, Heaven help me, what could I do?—for you know Mr. Fletcher is a terrible man. He does not fear the face of clay; and the scowl upon his face when he is in his moods is terrible. I am bound to obey."
"But what of her?" said Aminadab. "It's no surely she who is in the horrid hole?"
"Never you mind that, but eat your bacon, you fool for stopping me. When
I'm stopped, I seldom begin again for a day and night at least."
"Something like your master, Janet."
"No, Aminadab; I have a heart, lad."
"That I know, Janet," said Aminadab, with a lump of pork in his mouth; "and—and—it—is—fat—lass."
"And the easier swallowed," said she
"I meant your heart, Mrs. McPherson.