over his bargain, and much good may it do him.”  A laugh followed the attorney’s sneering remark, and the biddings went on.  “I want it,” observed Caleb “because it just fits a recess like this one in my room underneath.”  This he said to quiet a suspicion he thought he saw gathering upon the attorney’s brow.  It was finally knocked down to Caleb at L5 10s., a sum considerably beyond its real value; and he had to borrow a sovereign in order to clear his speculative purchase.  This done, he carried off his prize, and as soon as the closing of the house for the night secured him from interruption, he set eagerly to work in search of the secret drawer.  A long and patient examination was richly rewarded.  Behind one of the small drawers of the secretaire portion of the piece of furniture was another small one, curiously concealed, which contained Bank-of-England notes to the amount of L200, tied up with a letter, upon the back of which was written, in the deceased’s hand-writing, “To take with me.”  The letter which Caleb, although he read print with facility, had much difficulty in making out, was that which Mr. Lisle had struck from the young woman’s hand a few weeks before, and proved to be a very affecting appeal from Lucy Stevens, now Lucy Warner, and a widow, with two grown-up children.  Her husband had died in insolvent circumstances, and she and her sister Emily, who was still single, were endeavoring to carry on a school at Bristol, which promised to be sufficiently prosperous if the sum of about L150 could be raised, to save the furniture from her deceased husband’s creditors.  The claim was pressing, for Mr. Warner had been dead nearly a year, and Mr. Lisle being the only relative Mrs. Warner had in the world, she had ventured to entreat his assistance for her mother’s sake.  There could be no moral doubt, therefore, that this money was intended for Mrs. Warner’s relief; and early in the morning Mr. Caleb Jennings dressed himself in his Sunday’s suit, and with a brief announcement to his landlady that he was about to leave Watley for a day or two, on a visit to a friend, set off for the railway station.  He had not proceeded far when a difficulty struck him—­the bank-notes were all twenties; and were he to change a twenty-pound note at the station, where he was well known, great would be the tattle and wonderment, if nothing worse, that would ensue.  So Caleb tried his credit again, borrowed sufficient for his journey to London, and there changed one of the notes.

He soon reached Bristol, and blessed was the relief which the sum of money he brought afforded Mrs. Warner.  She expressed much sorrow for the death of Mr. Lisle, and great gratitude to Caleb.  The worthy man accepted with some reluctance one of the notes, or at least as much as remained of that which he had changed; and after exchanging promises with the widow and her relatives to keep the matter secret, departed homewards.  The young woman, Mrs. Warner’s daughter, who had brought the letter to Watley, was, Caleb noticed, the very image of her mother, or, rather, of what her mother must have been when young.  This remarkable resemblance it was, no doubt, which had for the moment so confounded and agitated Mr. Lisle.