"But there's plenty of time---" "Yes, there's plenty of time!" agreed Twitt.

"But, lor,' if you could only know what a pain it gives me in the 'ed to work the portry out of it, ye wouldn't wonder at my preparin' ye, as 'twere.

Onny I wishes ye just to understand that it'll all be done for love--an' no charge." Mary thanked him smiling, yet with tears in her eyes, and he strolled away down the street in his usual slow and somewhat casual manner.
That evening,--the evening of the day on which all that was mortal of "old David" had been committed to the gentle ground, Mary unlocked the cupboard of which he had given her the key on the last night of his life, and took out the bulky packet it contained.

She read the superscription with some surprise and uneasiness.

It was addressed to a Mr.Bulteel, in a certain street near Chancery Lane, London.