Nothing less than two fat sweltering one-pound notes that seemed to have

been on terms of the warmest intimacy with all the cattle-markets in

the county. Joe caught up his hat again, and ran with them to the Jolly

Bargemen to restore them to their owner. While he was gone, I sat down

on my usual stool and looked vacantly at my sister, feeling pretty sure

that the man would not be there.

Presently, Joe came back, saying that the man was gone, but that he,

Joe, had left word at the Three Jolly Bargemen concerning the notes.

Then my sister sealed them up in a piece of paper, and put them under

some dried rose-leaves in an ornamental teapot on the top of a press in

the state parlor. There they remained, a nightmare to me, many and many

a night and day.

I had sadly broken sleep when I got to bed, through thinking of the

strange man taking aim at me with his invisible gun, and of the guiltily

coarse and common thing it was, to be on secret terms of conspiracy with

convicts,--a feature in my low career that I had previously forgotten.

I was haunted by the file too. A dread possessed me that when I least

expected it, the file would reappear. I coaxed myself to sleep by

thinking of Miss Havisham's, next Wednesday; and in my sleep I saw

the file coming at me out of a door, without seeing who held it, and I

screamed myself awake.




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