“She said, Mr. Sawyer,” replied the old lady⁠—“and it is this I want to prepare Benjamin’s mind for, gently and by degrees; she said that she was⁠—I have got the letter in my pocket, Mr. Sawyer, but my glasses are in the carriage, and I should only waste your time if I attempted to point out the passage to you, without them; she said, in short, Mr. Sawyer, that she was married.”

“What!” said, or rather shouted, Mr. Bob Sawyer.

“Married,” repeated the old lady.

Mr. Bob Sawyer stopped to hear no more; but darting from the surgery into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice, “Ben, my boy, she’s bolted!”