d saved up a little money. I had
settled things with father and mother. I meant to take her away from
the mortification she was suffering here. We should have had a little
lodging in London, and lived together like sisters. She had a good
education, sir, as you know, and she wrote a good hand. She was quick at
her needle. I have a good education, and I write a good hand. I am not
as quick at my needle as she was--but I could have done. We might have
got our living nicely. And, oh! what happens this morning? what happens
this morning? Her letter comes and tells me that she has done with the
burden of her life. Her letter comes, and bids me good-bye for ever.
Where is he?" cries the girl, lifting her head from the crutch, and
flaming out again through her tears. "Where's this gentleman that I
mustn't speak of, except with respect? Ha, Mr. Betteredge, the day is
not far off when the poor will rise against the rich. I pray Heaven they
may begin with HIM. I pray Heaven they may begin with HIM."

Here was another of your average good Christians, and here was the usual
break-down, consequent on that same average Christianity being pushed
too far! The parson himself (though I own this is saying a great deal)
could hardly have lectured the girl in the state she was in now. All I
ventured to do was to keep her to the point--in the hope of something
turning up which might be worth hearing.

"What do you want with Mr. Franklin Blake?" I asked.

"I want to see him."

"For anything particular?"

"I have got a letter to give him."

"From Rosanna Spearman?"

"Yes."

"Sent to you in your own letter?"

"Yes."

Was the darkness going to lift? Were all the discoveries that I was
dying to make, coming and offering themselves to me of their own accord?
I was obliged to wait a moment. Sergeant Cuff had left his infection
behind him. Certain signs and tokens, personal to myself, warned me that
the detective-fever was beginning to set in again.

"You can't see Mr. Franklin," I said.

"I must, and will, see him."

"He went to London last night."

Limping Lucy looked me hard in the face, and saw that I was speaking
the truth. Without a word more, she turned about again instantly towards
Cobb's Hole.

"Stop!" I said. "I expect news of Mr. Franklin Blake to-morrow. Give me
your letter, and I'll send it on to him by the post."

Limping Lucy steadied herself on her crutch and looked back at me over
her shoulder.

"I am to give