The answer was a little sharp.

“It is Charity who is afraid of her,” said she.  She had evidently forgotten her own extravagant words to me on this subject.  “Charity is timid; she thinks because this woman once hung over our brother, night and day, that she knew about this money and had persuaded herself that she has some right to it.  Charity is sometimes mistaken, but she has some reason, if it is inadequate, for this notion of hers.  That woman, since her dismissal after my brother’s death, has never really quit this neighborhood.  She worked next door in any capacity she could, whenever any of the tenants would take her; and when they would not, sewed or served in the houses near by till finally she set up a shop directly opposite its very door.  But she’ll never get these bonds; we shall pay her what is her due, but she’ll never get any more.”

“That would make her out a thief,” I cried, “or—­” but I thought better of uttering what was in my mind.  Instead I asked how they first came to hear of her.

Miss Charity showed some flustration at this and cast her sister an appealing look; but Miss Thankful, eying her with some severity, answered me with becoming candor: 

“She was a lodger in this house.  We kept a few lodgers in those days—­be still, Charity!  Just thank God those days are over.”

“A lodger?” I repeated.  “Did she ever tell you where she came from?”

“Yes, she mentioned the place,—­it was some town farther west.  That was when we were in such trouble about our brother and how we should care for him.  She could nurse him, she said, and indeed seemed very eager to do so, and we were glad to let her,—­very glad, till my brother showed such fear of her and of what she might do if she once got hold of his wallet.”

“You possibly did her injustice,” I said.  “A sick man’s fancies are not always to be relied on.  What did your nephew think of her?  Did he share your distrust of her?”

“John?  Oh, yes, I believe so.  Why do we always come back to the subject of John?  I want to forget him; I mean to forget him; I mean that Charity shall forget him.”

“Let us begin then from this moment,” I smiled; then quickly:  “You knew that Bess was a married woman.”

“No, we knew nothing about her.”

“Not even the name she went by?”

“Oh, that was Brown.”

“Brown,” I muttered, turning for a second time to go.  “You must think me inquisitive, but if I had not been,” I added with a merry laugh, “I should never have found your bonds for you.”  Pressing both their hands in mine I ran hastily out of the room.

At once I crossed the street to Bess’ little shop.

CHAPTER XXVIII

RESTITUTION

“Bess, why are you so white?  What has happened to you in the last twenty-four hours?  Have you heard from him?”