The Thursday night passed, and nothing happened.

With the Friday morning came two pieces of news.
Item the first: the baker's man declared he had met Rosanna Spearman, on the previous afternoon, with a thick veil on, walking towards Frizinghall by the foot-path way over the moor.

It seemed strange that anybody should be mistaken about Rosanna, whose shoulder marked her out pretty plainly, poor thing--but mistaken the man must have been; for Rosanna, as you know, had been all the Thursday afternoon ill up-stairs in her room.
Item the second came through the postman.

Worthy Mr.Candy had said one more of his many unlucky things, when he drove off in the rain on the birthday night, and told me that a doctor's skin was waterproof.

In spite of his skin, the wet had got through him.