“That is my secret, and too precious to throw away.”

“I comprehend you, now,” says Mr. Godwin, bethinking him of the fellow’s greed.  “You shall be paid.  Tell me where she is and name your price.”

“The price is this,” returns the other, “thy promise to be secret, to catch them in this trap, and give no opening for escape.  Oh, I know them; they are as serpents, that slip through a man’s fingers and turn to bite.  They shall not serve me so again.  Promise—­”

“Nothing.  Think you I’m of your own base kind, to deal with you in treachery?  You had my answer before, when you would poison my mind, rascal.  But,” adds he, with fury, “you shall tell me where my wife is.”

“I would tear the tongue from my throat ere it should undo the work of Providence.  If they escape the present vengeance of Heaven, thee shalt answer for it, not I. Yet I will give thee a clue to find this woman who hath fooled thee.  Seek her where there are thieves and drunkards to mock at thy simplicity, to jeer at their easy gull, for I say again thy wife never was in Barbary, but playing the farded, wanton—­”

The patience with which Mr. Godwin had harkened to this tirade, doubting by his passion that Simon was stark mad, gave way before this vile aspersion on his wife, and clutching the old man by the throat he flung him across the threshold and shut the door upon him.

But where was his wife?  That question was still uppermost in his thoughts.  His sole misgiving was that accident had befallen her, and that somewhere in the house he should find her lying cold and insensible.

With this terror in his mind, he ran again upstairs.  On the landing he was met by Mrs. Butterby, who (prudent soul), at the first hint of misconduct on her mistress’s part, had bundled the gaping servants up to their rooms.

“Mercy on us, dear master!” says she.  “Where can our dear lady be?  For a surety she hath not left the house, for I locked all up, as she bade me when we carried up her supper, and had the key in my pocket when you knocked.  ‘See the house safe,’ says she, poor soul, with a voice could scarce be heared, ’and let no one disturb me, for I do feel most heavy with sleep.’”

Mr. Godwin passed into his wife’s room and then into the next, looking about him in distraction.

“Lord! here’s the sweet thing’s nightgown,” exclaims Mrs. Butterby, from the next room, whither she had followed Mr. Godwin.  “But dear heart o’ me, where’s the ham gone?”

Mr. Godwin, entering from the next room, looked at her as doubting whether he or all the world had taken leave of their wits.

“And the pigeon pasty?” added Mrs. Butterby, regarding the table laid out beside her mistress’s bed.

“And the cold partridge,” adds she, in redoubled astonishment.  “Why, here’s nought left but my pudding, and that as cold as a stone.”