“Oh, Mr. Angland, I’ve been waiting up to see you, and I really believe I’ve been asleep,” whispers the young lady. “Here, come with me. Be as quiet as you can; for goodness’ sake, don’t let her hear us.”
Claude rises obediently; and, overcome with surprise, is unresistingly led out into the darkness on to the dried-up lawn in front of the house by his charming escort.
“Oh! hide that horrid light of your cigar, please,” Glory suddenly exclaims, in a low, excited voice. “Somebody might see us. It’s too dreadful to think of.”
Then, with her warm, balmy breath fanning her admirer’s cheek and her little hands clutching at his arm, she pants out to Claude the story of the intercepted letter.
“I’ve never liked her,” Glory exclaims with pretty anger, as she finishes her account of the discovery of her cousin’s plot; “but she’s dreadfully clever and strong-minded, and poor papa couldn’t get on without her, I do believe. But read this paper: it’s a copy of the letter. She did not sign it. Ain’t she cute? Meet me at the new stable before breakfast to-morrow; I go there every morning to see my mare Coryphée groomed. But I mustn’t wait. Good-night!”
The little figure flits away like a fairy ghost into the darkness—silently as a moth—and is gone.
When Claude presently opens the paper that Miss Giles has given him in his own room, he finds the following words scratched upon it in pencil, in a school-girl’s unformed hand:—
Copy of Her Letter.
“ Burn this directly you have read it. He is here, and is on the eve of discovering all. Send him the message we agreed upon at once; to-morrow, if possible to arrange matters so soon. Delay is dangerous. Burn this NOW. ”