Mr.Jones obeyed.
"Now, just write above the extract: "'Sir,--By Mr.Price's desire I send you the inclosed.

He is too ill to write himself.

But he bids me say that he has never been quite the same man since you left him; and that, if he should not get well again, still your kind letter has made him easier in his mind." Caleb stopped.
"Go on." "That is all I have to say: sign your name, and put the address--here it is.

Ah, the letter," he muttered, "must not lie about! If anything happens to me, it may get him into trouble." And as Mr.Jones sealed his communication, Caleb feebly stretched his wan hand, held the letter which had "come too late" over the flame of the candle.

As the blazing paper dropped on the carpetless floor, Mr.
Jones prudently set thereon the broad sole of his top-boot, and the maidservant brushed the tinder into the grate.
"Ah, trample it out:--hurry it amongst the ashes.