Then she
looked at me. Her expression was of unmistakable dismay. I took the
pocket-book from her hand: it was full of notes!
I learned afterward, that it was his habit to have money in the house, in
readiness for some possible sudden need of it.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
ANOTHER VISION.
That same night, within an hour, to my unspeakable relief, John came
home--at least he came to me, who he always said was his home. It was
rather late, but we went out to the wilderness, where I had a good cry on
his shoulder; after which I felt better, and hope began to show signs of
life in me. I never asked him how he had got on in London, but told him
all that had happened since he went. It was worse than painful to tell
him about his mother's letter, and what my uncle told me in consequence
of it, also my personal adventure with her so lately; but I felt I must
hide nothing. If a man's mother is a devil, it is well he should know it.
He sat like a sleeping hurricane while I spoke, saying never a word. When
I had ended,--
"Is that all?" he asked.
"It is all, John: is it not enough?" I answered.
"It is enough," he cried, with an oath that frightened me, and started to
his feet. The hurricane was awake.
I threw my arms round him.
"Where are you going?" I said.
"To _her_" he answered.
"What for?"
"To _kill_ her," he said--then threw himself on the ground, and lay
motionless at my feet.
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