As it was, I only shook the tea-pot, and made the tea.  Jarber had brought from under his cloak, a roll of paper, with which he had triumphantly pointed over the way, like the Ghost of Hamlet’s Father appearing to the late Mr. Kemble, and which he had laid on the table.

“A discovery?” said I, pointing to it, when he was seated, and had got his tea-cup.—­“Don’t go, Trottle.”

“The first of a series of discoveries,” answered Jarber.  “Account of a former tenant, compiled from the Water Rate, and Medical Man.”

“Don’t go, Trottle,” I repeated.  For, I saw him making imperceptibly to the door.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, I might be in Mr. Jarber’s way?”

Jarber looked that he decidedly thought he might be.  I relieved myself with a good angry croak, and said—­always determined not to notice: 

“Have the goodness to sit down, if you please, Trottle.  I wish you to hear this.”

Trottle bowed in the stiffest manner, and took the remotest chair he could find.  Even that, he moved close to the draught from the keyhole of the door.

“Firstly,” Jarber began, after sipping his tea, “would my Sophon—­”

“Begin again, Jarber,” said I.

“Would you be much surprised, if this House to Let should turn out to be the property of a relation of your own?”

“I should indeed be very much surprised.”

“Then it belongs to your first cousin (I learn, by the way, that he is ill at this time) George Forley.”

“Then that is a bad beginning.  I cannot deny that George Forley stands in the relation of first cousin to me; but I hold no communication with him.  George Forley has been a hard, bitter, stony father to a child now dead.  George Forley was most implacable and unrelenting to one of his two daughters who made a poor marriage.  George Forley brought all the weight of his band to bear as heavily against that crushed thing, as he brought it to bear lightly, favouringly, and advantageously upon her sister, who made a rich marriage.  I hope that, with the measure George Forley meted, it may not be measured out to him again.  I will give George Forley no worse wish.”

I was strong upon the subject, and I could not keep the tears out of my eyes; for, that young girl’s was a cruel story, and I had dropped many a tear over it before.

“The house being George Forley’s,” said I, “is almost enough to account for there being a Fate upon it, if Fate there is.  Is there anything about George Forley in those sheets of paper?”

“Not a word.”

“I am glad to hear it.  Please to read on.  Trottle, why don’t you come nearer?  Why do you sit mortifying yourself in those arctic regions?  Come nearer.”

“Thank you, ma’am; I am quite near enough to Mr. Jarber.”

Jarber rounded his chair, to get his back full to my opinionated friend and servant, and, beginning to read, tossed the words at him over his (Jabez Jarber’s) own ear and shoulder.