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“Ah! do so. You are much more quick-witted and clever than I am, and I need hardly say I would trust you with my life.”
Bessie Dalton folded up the notes, flew upstairs again to her own room, and returned with a pocket-book.
In this she carefully placed the notes, and then thrust the pocket-book in her bosom.
“So,” she ejaculated, “they are safe for the present—safe until we can learn something more about them and their real value. Now, are you ready to leave?”
“Yes; but—ahem—I—”
“Well, what?”
“Hadn’t I better write a letter to John, bidding him farewell for ever?”
Bessie shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
“It’s more than he deserves,” she said, “but as you wish it, do so.”
CHAPTER XIV.
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THE FLIGHT—A CONFIDENTIAL FRIEND—THE ROLL OF NOTES.
Mrs. Bristow had screwed her courage up as best she could, but now that the time had arrived for her to leave her home she felt a pang shoot through her heart.
She pictured to herself her husband’s return home after his debauch, his awakening in the morning, and his bitter remorse. Dissolute, debased, and worthless fellow as he was, his ill-used and miserable wife had some compassion left for him, some latent love of which she found it difficult to dispossess herself.