We then changed the conversation to Janet, about whom I could now speak calmly; after which I narrated to her what had occurred during the night, and my intention to consult with my father and Anderson upon the subject.

Virginia then left me that she might assist her mother, and I hastened to my father’s ward, where I found him, and, after our first greeting, requested that he would accompany me to Anderson’s office, as I had something to communicate to them both.  As I walked along with my father I perceived Spicer at a corner with his foot on a stone step and his hand to his knee, as if in pain.  At last he turned round and saw us.  I walked up to him, and he appeared a little confused as he said, “Ah!  Tom, is that you?  I did not know you were at Greenwich.”

“I came here last night,” replied I; “and I must be off again soon.  Are you lame?”

“Lame!  No; what should make me lame?” replied he, walking by the side of us as if he were not so.

I looked at his coat, and perceived that the third button on the right side was missing.

“You’ve lost a button, Spicer,” observed I.

“So I have,” replied he; and, as we had now arrived at Anderson’s door, my father and I turned from him to walk in and wished him good-by.

Anderson was in his office, and as soon as the door was closed I communicated to them what had occurred during the night, expressing my conviction that Spicer was the party who had attempted the murder.  In corroboration I reminded my father of the loss of the button from Spicer’s coat, and produced the one which Nanny had torn off.

“This is something more than suspicion,” observed Anderson; “but if, as you say, old Nanny will not give evidence against him, I know not what can be done.  Did you say that the old woman wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes, and I really wish that you would call there oftener.”

“Well,” replied Anderson, “I’ll go, Tom; but, to be plain with you, I do not think that I can be of much use there.  I have been several times.  She will gossip as long as you please; but if you would talk seriously, she turns a deaf ear.  You see, Tom, there’s little to be gained when you have to contend with such a besetting sin as avarice.  It is so powerful, especially in old age, that it absorbs all other feelings.  Still it is my duty, and it is also my sincere wish, to call her to a proper sense of her condition.  The poor old creature is, like myself, not very far from the grave; and, when once in it, it will be too late.  I will go, Tom, and most thankful shall I be if, with God’s help, I may prove of service to her.”