"Yes, yes, I know he is gone, bring it to me."
"Not him, Bridget, the paper, the paper. I want to see what is on it, that has driven that man out at this hour, in such a rainy night."
The girl looked at the door just closed, shutting the man out in the rain, then she examined the corner where the cane and umbrella usually stood, to be sure they had gone out too, that she had not been dreaming all the while; then she gave a glance at the table to satisfy herself that the hat had gone with the cane and umbrella; then she looked again at the paper, to see what magic power that might possess, to do such midnight deeds. Papers have great power. Poor Bridget, she could not read, but she could feel, and she knew that there was a cause--the effect she had seen.
"Bridget, what is the matter? are you frightened to death?"
"Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am--only speechless. Did you ever see the like? that that little dirty scrap of paper, I picked out of the gutter, should send the gentleman out of the house faster than I ever saw him go before in the year and a half I have been with you. What does it mean? Will you please to tell me, what these little marks mean? What does it read? There now, you can see them good. Please, read them to me, ma'am."
"Yes, and quite enough. I wonder not he went so quickly. I almost fancy I can--
'By the lamp dimly burning, or the pale moonlight-- See where he goes--'
almost past whole house fronts at a single stride. If a cart is in the way at the crossing he will not go around--two steps and he is over. If there is a bell at the door, take care, or the wires will crack. If a knocker, it will thunder loud this night. Woe to the watchman, who, thinking he may be a runaway burglar, puts out a hand to stop him in his walk. The bull, that butted the locomotive, made equal speed in his intent. He went down--the steam went on."
"No, Bridget, only enthusiastic. If he is mad,
he is only very much interested about a woman."
"Oh, yes, ma'am, I understand it now. I have seen gentlemen often mad after women. I suppose little Katy, then, is his child."
"Oh, no, Bridget, you are all wrong. She is not his child."
"Oh, well, ma'am, then, I suppose, she is somebody's else child. And if her mother is an interesting woman, I don't see as there is anything so very wrong about the matter. What am I all wrong about, ma'am?"