her fingers twitching with agitation, her head hot and throbbing. "She wrote that note—barefaced thing! When she found she could not see him, she wrote it, and left it for him: and he has gone out to see her!"

Jealousy in its way is as exciting as wine; acting very much in the same manner on any patient who is under its influence. Mrs. Frank's blood was surging in her veins; her thoughts were taking a wild turn; her trembling fingers could hardly throw off her bonnet. In point of fact, the note concerned a worthy tradesman, who feared he was sickening for some complaint, and "the young lady," his daughter, had written it, in preference to leaving a message, begging for Mr. Raynor's speedy attendance.

"Have you had your supper, Sam?" asked Mrs. Frank, appearing at the intervening door.

"No, ma'am."

"Then go and get it."

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