‘You had better put that question to her yourself, sir,’ replied Mr. Jukes, ‘for she is in this room.’
‘Here!’ exclaimed Abel, starting to his feet. ‘Ah! I see—I see. O God! she is very like her mother.’
‘Calm yourself, I entreat, sir,’ said Mr. Jukes; ‘I would not have admitted her,’ he added, in a low tone, ‘but that she told me the letter was written by her mother, and left to be delivered to you under peculiar circumstances, which have now arisen. I couldn’t resist a plea like that—nor could you, sir, I’m sure.’
‘A letter written to me by her mother! cried Abel, shivering, as if smitten by an ague. ‘Leave us, Jukes, and take that man with you.’
‘Come, friend,’ said Mr. Jukes to Jacob, who, with his crab-stick under his arm, stood gazing curiously on, ‘you had better adjourn with me to the butler’s pantry.’
‘Thank’ee kindly, sir,’ replied Jacob, in tones a little less gruff than usual, for he was somewhat awestricken; ‘I would rather stay with my young missis.’
‘But don’t you see you’re in the way, my good man?’ rejoined Mr. Jukes impatiently; ‘they can’t talk before us. Come along.’ And despite his resistance, he pushed Jacob out of the room, and closed the door after him.