"
Perhaps Valentine had never felt better pleased in his life than he did
when he went down the narrow, dark stairs, after his interview with
Becky Maddison. To find that without doubt she was either a fool or an
impostor, was not what should have softened his heart and opened his
purse for her; but he had feared to encounter her story far more than he
had known himself till now that all fear was over. So when he got down
to the daughter he was gracious, and generously gave her leave to come
to the house for wine and any other comforts that the old woman might
require. "And I shall come and see her from time to time," he added, as
he went his way, for with the old woman's last word had snapped the
chain that had barred the road to Melcombe. It was his. He should
dispense its charity, pay its dues, and from henceforth, without fear or
superstition, enjoy its revenues.
About this time something occurred at John Mortimer's house, which made
people hold up their hands, and exclaim, "What next?"
It would be a difficult matter to tell that story correctly, considering
how many had a hand in the telling of it, and that no two of them told
it in the least degree alike; considering also that Mr.
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