Moody I had cheated
him out of his money--that's another reason. The matter's in train, if
you will only wait a little longer."
"So you say," Isabel rejoined. "If you really could name the thief, I
believe you would do it now."
She turned away with a frown on her pretty face. Old Sharon followed
her. Even his coarse sensibilities appeared to feel the irresistible
ascendancy of beauty and youth.
"I say!" he began, "we must part friends, you know--or I shall break my
heart over it. They have got milk at the farmhouse. Do you think they
have got pen, ink, and paper too?"
Isabel answered, without turning to look at him, "Of course they have!"
"And a bit of sealing-wax?"
"I daresay!"
Old Sharon laid his dirty claws on her shoulder and forced her to face
him as the best means of shaking them off.
"Come along!" he said. "I am going to pacify you with some information
in writing."
"Why should you write it?" Isabel asked suspiciously.
"Because I mean to make my own conditions, my dear, before I let you
into the secret."
In ten minutes more they were all three in the farmhouse parlor. Nobody
but the farmer's wife was at home. The good woman trembled from head to
foot at the sight of Old Sharon. In all her harmless life she had never
yet seen humanity under the aspect in which it was now presented to her.
"Mercy preserve us, Miss!" she whispered to Isabel, "how come you to
be in such company as _that?_" Instructed by Isabel, she produced the
necessary materials for writing and sealing--and, that done, she shrank
away to the door.
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