Harry and John was in front, as was right; and in the dusk they
could hardly see who was behind.

'And what do you want, young men?' says Mrs. Blake, standing up in
her crape, and her white cap, and looking very handsome, Harry said
afterwards, though, for my part, I never could see it; and, as she
stood up, she caught sight of the clergyman from London, and she
shrank back into her chair and covered her face with her hands; and
the clergyman stepped into the room, none of us having the least
idea of what he was going to say, and said he--

'That's the woman that I married on the 7th; and that's the man I
married her to!' said he, pointing to Sigglesfield, who seemed to
turn twice as small, and his ferret eyes no better than button-hole
slits.

'That!' said our parson; 'why, that's Mr. Sigglesfield, the
solicitor from Lewes.'

'Then the lady opposite is Mrs. Sigglesfield, that's all,' said the
parson from London.

'What I want to know,' says Harry, 'is--is this my house or hers?
It's plain she wasn't my father's wife. But yet he left it to her in
the will.'

'Slowly, old boy!' said John; 'gently does it. How could he have
left anything in a will to his wife when he hadn't got any wife?
Why, that fellow there---'