Peckover's
distress, the moment he became convinced that it was genuine.
"That's a good chap! that's a dear good chap!" exclaimed Mrs. Peckover,
squeezing Zack's hand in a fervor of unbounded gratitude.
The door of Mrs. Blyth's room opened for the second time.
"He's gone, sir; he's gone at last!" cried Mrs. Peckover, shutting the
house door on the parting guest with inhospitable rapidity, and locking
it with elaborate care and extraordinary noise.
"I must manage to make it all safe with Master Zack tomorrow night;
though I don't believe I have said a single word I oughtn't to say,"
thought she, slowly ascending the stairs. "But Mr. Blyth makes such
fusses, and works himself into such fidgets about the poor thing being
traced and taken away from him (which is all stuff and nonsense), that
he would go half distracted if he knew what I said just now to Master
Zack. Not that it's so much what I said to _him,_ as what he made out
somehow and said to _me._ But they're so sharp, these young London
chaps--they are so awful sharp!"
Here she stopped on the landing to recover her breath; then whispered
to herself, as she went on and approached Mr. Blyth's door:
"But one thing I'm determined on; little Mary shan't have that Hair
Bracelet!"
* * * * *
Even as Mrs.
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