“P. M.—oh, ay, that's for Peggy Murray—maybe the letthers I saw on the ould tobaccy-box I found in the hole of the wall to-day were for Peggy Murray. Ha! ha! ha! Oh, may be I won't have a brag over her!”
“What letthers?” asked Hanlon eagerly; “a tobaccy-box, did you say?”
“Ay did I—a tobaccy-box. I found it in a hole in the wall in our house to-day; it tumbled out while I was gettin' some cobwebs to stop a bleedin'.”
“Was it a good one?” asked Hanlon, with apparent carelessness, “could one use it?”
“Hardly; but no, it's all rusty, an' has but one hinge.”
“But one hinge!” repeated the other, who was almost breathless with anxiety; “an' the letthers—what's this you say they wor?”
“The very same that's on your handkerchy,” she replied—“a P. an' an M.”
“Great God!” he exclaimed, “is this possible! Heavens! What is that? Did you hear anything?”
“What ails you?” she enquired. “Why do you look so frightened?”
“Did you hear nothing?” he again asked.