ck
at thy simplicity, to jeer at their easy gull, for I say again thy wife
never was in Barbary, but playing the farded, wanton--"

The patience with which Mr. Godwin had harkened to this tirade, doubting
by his passion that Simon was stark mad, gave way before this vile
aspersion on his wife, and clutching the old man by the throat he flung
him across the threshold and shut the door upon him.

But where was his wife? That question was still uppermost in his
thoughts. His sole misgiving was that accident had befallen her, and
that somewhere in the house he should find her lying cold and
insensible.

With this terror in his mind, he ran again upstairs. On the landing he
was met by Mrs. Butterby, who (prudent soul), at the first hint of
misconduct on her mistress's part, had bundled the gaping servants up to
their rooms.

"Mercy on us, dear master!" says she. "Where can our dear lady be? For a
surety she hath not left the house, for I locked all up, as she bade me
when we carried up her supper, and had the key in my pocket when you
knocked. 'See the house safe,' says she, poor soul, with a voice could
scarce be heared, 'and let no one disturb me, for I do feel most heavy
with sleep.'"

Mr. Godwin passed into his wife's room and then into the next, looking
about him in distraction.

"Lord! here's the sweet thing's nightgown," exclaims Mrs. Butterby, from
the next room, whither she had followed Mr. Godwin. "But dear heart o'
me, where's the ham gone?"

Mr. Godwin, entering from the next room, looked at her as doubting
whether he or all the world had taken leave of their wits.

"And the pigeon pasty?" added Mrs. Butterby, regarding the table laid
out beside her mistress's bed.

"And the cold partridge," adds she, in redoubled astonishment. "Why,
here's nought left but my pudding, and that as cold as a stone."

Mr. Godwin, with the candle flaring in his hand, passed hastily by her,
too wrought by fear to regard either the ludicrous or incomprehensible
side of Mrs. Butterby's consternation; and so, going down the corridor
away from the stairs, he comes to the door of the little back stairs,
standing wide open, and seeming to bid him descend. He goes quickly
down, yet trembling with fear that he may find her at the bottom, broken
by a fall; but all he discovers is the bolt drawn and the door ajar. As
he pushes it open a gust of wind blows out the light, and here he stood
in the darkness, eager to be doing, yet know