gistrates, when Sarah Purday asked for pen, ink, and paper for the
purpose of writing to one Mr. Jackson, in whose service she had formerly
lived. I happened to be at the prison, and of course took the liberty of
carefully unsealing her note and reading it. It revealed nothing; and
save by its extremely cautious wording, and abrupt, peremptory tone,
coming from a servant to her former master, suggested nothing. I had
carefully reckoned the number of sheets of paper sent into the cell, and
now on recounting them found that three were missing. The turnkey
returned immediately, and asked for the two other letters she had
written. The woman denied having written any other, and for proof
pointed to the torn fragments of the missing sheets lying on the floor.
These were gathered up and brought to me, but I could make nothing out
of them, every word having been carefully run through with the pen, and
converted into an unintelligible blot. The request contained in the
actually-written letter was one simple enough in itself, merely, "that
Mr. Jackson would not on any account fail to provide her, in
consideration of past services, with legal assistance on the morrow."
The first nine words were strongly underlined; and I made out after a
good deal of trouble that the word "pretence" had been partially
effaced, and "account" substituted for it.

"She need not have wasted three sheets of paper upon such a nonsensical
request as that," observed the turnkey. "Old Jackson wouldn't shell out
sixpence to save her or anybody else from the gallows."

"I am of a different opinion; but tell me, what sort of a person is this
former master of hers?"

"All I know about him is that he's a cross-grained, old curmudgeon,
living about a mile out of Farnham, who scrapes money together by
lending small sums upon notes-of-hand at short dates, and at a
thundering interest. Flint Jackson folk about here call him."

"At all events, forward the letter at once, and to-morrow we shall
see--what we shall see. Good-evening."

It turned out as I anticipated. A few minutes after the prisoners were
brought into the justice-room, a Guilford solicitor of much local
celebrity arrived, and announced that he appeared for both the
inculpated parties. He was allowed a private conference with them, at
the close of which he stated that his clients would reserve their
defence. They were at once committed for trial, and I overheard the
solicitor assure the woman that