Now, then, say what you
really saw."
Old Becky clutched the gold, and said, in a weak, whimpering tone,
"'Tain't often I tell it--ain't told it sin' Christmas marnin', old
Madam couldn't abide to hear on't."
"Old Madam's gone," said Valentine seriously.
"Ay, her be--her wer a saint, and sings in heaven now."
"And I want to hear it."
Thereupon the old woman roused herself a little, and with the voice and
manner of one repeating a lesson, told Valentine word for word the
trumpery tale in the book; how she had seen Mr. Melcombe early in the
morning, as she went up to the house on washing-day, to help the
servants. For "Madam," a widow already, had leave to live there till he
should return. He was walking in his shroud among the cherry-trees, and
he looked seriously at her. She passed, but turned instantly, and he had
disappeared; he must have gone right through the crack of the door.
Valentine was vexed, and yet relieved. Such a ridiculous tale could only
be an invention; and yet, if she would have told it in different words,
or have added anything, it might have led to some discovery--it might,
at least, have shown how it came to pass that such a story had obtained
credit.
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