“I don’t know,” said the Deputy, with deliberation, “as I ought to let you go. I’m a honest man as gets my living by the sweat of my brow, and I may fall into trouble by letting you go. I’ve fell into trouble afore now, by George, and I know what it is, and it’s made me careful. You might be took with your deadness again, half a mile off⁠—or half of half a quarter, for the matter of that⁠—and then it would be asked, Why did that there honest Deputy Lock, let her go, instead of putting her safe with the Parish? That’s what a man of his character ought to have done, it would be argueyfied,” said the Deputy Lock, cunningly harping on the strong string of her terror; “he ought to have handed her over safe to the Parish. That was to be expected of a man of his merits.”

As he stood in the doorway, the poor old careworn wayworn woman burst into tears, and clasped her hands, as if in a very agony she prayed to him.

“As I’ve told you, Master, I’ve the best of friends. This letter will show how true I spoke, and they will be thankful for me.”