"Yes: because I saw her at the window for a moment, every now and then," replied the lad, speaking without averting his eyes from the street. "Good!" exclaimed Old Death. "It is not at all likely that she has come over to Tom's lodgings this evening, or that she will come—'specially after the long sermon she wrote——" Bones checked himself; for he was not in the habit of being communicative with Toby Bunce; and Toby, on his side, never sought to pry into the motives or designs of the old fence by whom he was made so complete a tool. "Who is there in the house besides Mr. Rainford and the boy?" asked Toby, after a pause. "Only the old widow woman that keeps it," responded Mr. Benjamin Bones. "There!" cried Jacob, suddenly: "the door opens—and Mr. Rainford comes out! He's gone." "All right!" said Old Death. "I suppose he's going for his horse, wherever he keeps it." "I could see by the light in the passage, when the door was opened, that he had his white coat on and his great riding-whip in his hand," remarked Jacob. "It was a woman that held the candle—because I could just catch a glimpse of her shadow, and that's all." "You don't think it was the Jewess?" asked Bones. "I couldn't say, because the shadow wasn't plain enough," returned Jacob. "But it's hardly probable that she could have got over here before us, even if she was coming to Mr. Rainford's lodgings to-night." "Well said, Jacob," observed Old Death. "You're getting a knowing lad—you are; and now you shall have a glass of grog to yourself." "What! a _whole_ glass?" ejaculated Toby Bunce, in astonishment at this unwonted liberality on the part of Old Death. "Yes—a whole glass—a sixpenny glass," responded Bones; and, having summoned the landlord, he gave the requisite order. The liquor was brought for Jacob's express behoof; and Old Death drew forth the money to pay for it. But, as he did so, a paper with writing upon it fell upon the floor, unperceived by any one save Jacob. The lad instantly drew a chair near the fire, and as he seated himself, placed his foot upon the paper, which, being somewhat dingy in hue, he took to be a bank-note. The landlord withdrew; and the conversation was resumed between Old Death and Toby Bunce. "I hope Betsy will have something nice for supper when we get back again," remarked the latter. "She's sure to do that," replied Old Death. "You ought to be very fond of your wife, Toby—for she's very fond of you." "D'ye think she is, Mr. Bones?" exclaimed Bunce. "I'm sure of it. Doesn't she take great care of you?" "Rather too much," was the reply, which came from the bottom of Toby's heart: then, perceiving that he had uttered something which seemed to imply that he had dared to form an opinion for himself, he hastened to add, "Not but what it's very kind of her to keep the money—and my watch too—and every thing else in her own care, because I know I'm an old fool——"