She laughed altogether in her old manner. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. But here she met with a check. Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. Yet I think that he will do it.
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