“See what your joking has led to,” he said, at last. “I have got to be a wanderer over the face of the earth, all on account of your jokes.”
“It was an accident,” murmured Mrs. Berry, “and nobody knows he was here, and I’m sure, poor dear, he hadn’t got much to live for.”
“It’s very kind of you to look at it in that way, Susan, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Cox.
“I was never one to make mischief,” said Mrs. Berry. “It’s no good crying over spilt milk. If uncle’s killed he’s killed, and there’s an end of it. But I don’t think it’s quite safe for Mr. Cox to stay here.”
“Just what I say,” said that gentleman, eagerly; “but I’ve got no money.”
“You get away,” said Mrs. Berry, with a warning glance at her friend, and nodding to emphasise her words; “leave us some address to write to, and we must try and scrape twenty or thirty pounds to send you.”
“Thirty?” said Mr. Cox, hardly able to believe his ears.
Mrs. Berry nodded. “You’ll have to make that do to go on with,” she said, pondering. “‘And as soon as yoa get it you had better get as far away as possible before poor uncl’e is discovered. Where are we to send the money?”
Mr. Cox affected to consider.
“The White Horse, Newstead,” he said at length, in a whisper; “better write it down.”