“Ah, Bessie! don’t say that. It’s all very well for a woman to talk about controlling a drunken man. It is quite impossible. Do what you will, treat him with harshness or kindness, the end is the same. But too well I know that.” “Well, I’ll not vex you by offering any further observations upon that subject. Doubtless you know best. One thing, however, you can do.” “What is that?” “Why, leave him. Take a situation, far away from this town. I would rather beg my bread in the public streets than subject myself to the brutality of such a ruffian.” “You are quite right, Bessie. Such a course is the more bearable one of the two.” “Suppose he should come back, how then?” said Bessie, in a tone of alarm. “Ah, he will not come back till he’s spent the whole, or the greater portion, of the money. There’s no fear of that.” “To say the truth, I don’t think there is. But how he’s knocked about the things,” said Bessie, glancing at the overturned table and the broken glass. “He upset them as he went out. The looking-glass is broken. That is a fatal sign. No luck in this house after that.” “Don’t be superstitious,” cried the girl, lifting up the table, and endeavouring to replace it in its position. “It won’t stand, dear. One of the legs is broken,” said Mrs. Bristow. “Never mind.” Her companion propped it up as best she could. Then she stooped down and began to pick up the pieces of the glass which had fallen from the frame. These she placed on the table. She then lifted up the glass. As she did so, something met her eye. It appeared to be a thin piece of paper, which had been concealed between the plate of the glass and the wooden back. “Mercy on us! what is this?” exclaimed Bessie. She drew out the paper, and held it forth. Then, with a sudden scream, exclaimed, in a hissing whisper―― “A HUNDRED POUND NOTE!” “Heavens above! what do you mean?” cried the miserable wife. “Well, seeing’s believing,” answered her companion. “I’m not much of a judge of these matters; but if I am not mistaken, this is a genuine Bank of England note for one hundred pounds.” “How came it there? This looks like sorcery. Ah, Bessie, dear, you are playing me some trick. It cannot be.” “But, my dear, it is. Look here.” She drew towards the side of the bed, and placed the note in the hands of Mrs. Bristow. “Well, this is most wonderful――most incomprehensible. Can you account for it?” said the latter. “Indeed, I cannot. Where did you get this glass from?” “Bought it at a broker’s shop in the town.” “Give the note to me, I’ll take charge of it,” cried Bessie, clapping her hands. “Yes, you had better do so; but I say, dear, suppose it should be a forged one?” “Oh, lor! I never thought of that; but I’ve no doubt we shall find it all right enough.” “Let us hope so.” “You have given me your word that you will leave this very night,” said the girl. “You are not going to break it?” “No! Oh dear no.” “You are sure of that?”