I felt that what she said was true, and I then asked her many questions, so as to lead to the discovery of the party.

“How was he dressed?” inquired I.

“I can’t exactly say.  But, do you know, Jack, I fancied that he had a pensioner’s coat on; indeed, I am almost sure of it.  I think I tore off one of his buttons, I recollect its giving way; I may be wrong—­my head wanders.”

But I thought that most likely Nanny was right, so I looked down on the floor with the candle, and there I picked up a pensioner’s button.

“You’re right, Nanny; here is the button.”

“Well, now, Jack, I can’t talk anymore; you won’t leave me to-night, I’m sure.”

“No, no, mother, that I will not.  Try to go to sleep.”

Hardly had Nanny laid her head down again, when it came across my mind like a flash of lightning that it must have been Spicer who had attempted the deed; and my reason for so thinking was that the blow I had received on the mouth was not like that from the hand of a man, but from the wooden socket fixed to the stump of his right arm.  The more I reflected upon it the more I was convinced.  He was a clever armorer, and had picked the lock; and I now recalled to mind what had never struck me before, that he had often asked me questions about old Nanny, and whether I thought the report that she had money was correct.

It was daylight before old Nanny woke up, and then she appeared to be quite recovered.  I told her my suspicions, and my intentions to ascertain the truth of them as far as I possibly could.

“Well, and what then?” said old Nanny.

“Why, then, if we bring it home to him, he will be hanged, as he deserves.”

“Now, Jack, hear me,” said old Nanny.  “You won’t do anything I don’t wish, I’m sure; and now I’ll tell you that I never would give evidence against him, or any other man, to have him hanged.  So, if you find out that it is him, do not say a word about it.  Promise me, Jack.”

“Why, mother, I can’t exactly say that I will; but I will talk to Peter Anderson about it.”

“It’s no use talking to him; and, if you do, it must be under promise of secrecy, or I will not consent to it.  Jack, Jack, recollect that my poor boy was hanged from my fault.  Do you think I will hang another?  Oh, no.  Perhaps this very man had a foolish wicked mother, like me, and has, like my boy, been led into guilt.  Jack, you must do as I wish—­you shall, Jack.”

“Well, mother, I have no animosity against the man himself; and, if you forgive him, I do not see why I should do anything.”

“I don’t forgive him, Jack; but I think of my own poor boy.”

“Well, mother, since you wish it, it shall be so; and if I do prove that the man I suspect is the party, I will say nothing, and make Anderson promise the same, as I think he will.  But how is it that people come to rob a poor old woman like you?  How is it, mother, that there is a report going about that you have money?”