tears, but she did so this day when there
was no longer a possibility of doubting that Bob was dead. She shut
herself in her room and moaned like a wild beast in pain. Joseph could
not but observe, when he came home, that she was suffering in some
extraordinary way. When he spoke jestingly about it, she all but rushed
upon him with her fists. And in the same moment She determined that he
should not escape, even if she had to murder him with her own hands.
From that day her constant occupation was searching the newspapers to
get hints about poisons. Doubtless it was as well for Joseph to be
speedy in his preparations for departure.

She was present in the police-court when Jack Bartley came forward to
be dealt with. Against him she stored up hatred and the resolve of
vengeance; if it were years before she had the opportunity, Jack should
in the end pay for what he had done.

And now Joseph had played her the trick she anticipated; he had saved
himself out of her clutches, and had carried off all his money with
him. She knew well enough what was meant by his saying that her mother
would supply what she needed; very likely that he had made any such
arrangement! You should have heard the sterling vernacular in which
Clem gave utterance to her feelings as soon as she had deciphered the
mocking letter?

Without a minute's delay she dressed and left the house. Having a few
shillings in her pocket, she took a cab at King's Cross and bade the
driver drive his hardest to Clerkenwell Close. Up Pentonville Hill
panted the bony horse, Clem swearing all the time because it could go
no quicker. But the top was reached; she shouted to the man to whip,
whip? By the time they pulled up at Mrs. Peckover's house Clem herself
perspired as profusely as the animal.

Mrs. Peckover was at breakfast, alone.

'Read that, will you? Read that?' roared Clem, rushing upon her and
dashing the letter in her face.

'Why, you mad cat!' cried her mother, starting up in anger. 'What's
wrong with you now?'

'Read that there letter! That's _your_ doin', that is! Read it? Read
it!'

Half-frightened, Mrs. Peckover drew away from the table and managed to
peruse Joseph's writing. Having come to the end, she burst into jeering
laughter.

'He's done it, has he? He's took his 'ook, has he? _What_ did I tell
you? Don't swear at me, or I'll give you something to swear about--such
languidge in a respectable 'ouse! Ha, ha? What did I tell you? You
wouldn'