“Yes; but she isn’t the great counsellor from York—you be that gentleman, they tell me.” “May I ask who told you anything about me?” “Nancy Horton—and so did Mary Monson. Nancy said if I made so much noise, I should disturb the great counsellor from York, and he might get me hanged for it. I was only singing hymns, and they say it is good for folks in trouble to sing hymns. If you be the great counsellor from York, I wish you would tell me one thing. Who got the gold that was in the stocking?” “Do you happen to know anything of that stocking, or of the gold?” “Do I—” looking first over one shoulder, then over the other, but hesitating to proceed. “Will they hang me, if I tell?” “I should think not; though I can only give you an opinion. Do not answer, unless it be agreeable to you.” “I want to tell—I want to tell _all_, but I’m afeard. I don’t want to be hanged.” “Well, then, speak out boldly, and I will promise that you shall not be hanged. Who got the gold that was in the stocking?” “Mary Monson. That’s the way she has got so much money.” “I cannot consent to leave Anna another instant in such company!” exclaimed the anxious mother. “Go, McBrain, and bring her hither at once.” “You are a little premature,” coolly remarked Dunscomb. “This is but a person of weak mind; and too much importance should not be attached to his words. Let us hear what further he may have to say.” It was too late. The footstep of Mrs. Horton was heard in the passage; and the extraordinary being vanished as suddenly and as stealthily as he had entered. “What can be made of this?” McBrain demanded, when a moment had been taken to reflect. “Nothing, Ned; I care not if Williams knew it all. The testimony of such a man cannot be listened to for an instant. It is wrong in us to give it a second thought; though I perceive that you do. Half the mischief in the world is caused by misconceptions, arising from a very numerous family of causes; one of which is a disposition to fancy a great deal from a little. Do you pronounce the man an idiot—or is he a madman?” “He does not strike me as absolutely either. There is something peculiar in his case; and I shall ask permission to look into it. I suppose we are done with the cards—shall I go for Anna?” The anxious mother gave a ready assent; and McBrain went one way, while Dunscomb retired to his own room, not without stopping before his neighbour’s door, whom he heard muttering and menacing within.