I made the letter up like a parcel, and
sent the coachman with it to catch the mail on its way through to
London.
The next thing was to go to the justice of the peace. The nearest
lived about five miles off, and was well acquainted with my
mistress. He was an old bachelor, and he kept house with his
brother, who was a widower. The two were much respected and
beloved in the county, being kind, unaffected gentlemen, who did
a great deal of good among the poor. The justice was Mr. Robert
Nicholson, and his brother, the widower, was Mr. Philip.
I had got my hat on, and was asking the groom which horse I had
better take, when an open carriage drove up to the house. It
contained Mr. Philip Nicholson and two persons in plain clothes,
not exactly servants and not exactly gentlemen, as far as I could
judge. Mr. Philip looked at me, when I touched my hat to him, in
a very grave, downcast way, and asked for my mistress. I told him
she was ill in bed. He shook his head at hearing that, and said
he wished to speak to me in private. I showed him into the
library. One of the men in plain clothes followed us, and sat in
the hall. The other waited with the carriage.
"I was just going out, sir," I said, as I set a chair for him,
"to speak to Mr. Robert Nicholson about a very extraordinary
circumstance--"
"I know what you refer to," said Mr.
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