“Are you the English milor who is stopping with Madame Trieste?” inquired the boy.
“And if I am, what business is it of yours, you impudent young jackanapes?”
“Pardon, monsieur, I’ve got something for you,” returned the lad, in a submissive and respectful tone.
“What is it?”
“This letter.”
As he spoke he drew from his pocket a large-sized letter, which he handed to the earl. It was carefully folded and sealed, and addressed in a firm, bold handwriting.
“And who may this be from?” inquired Ethalwood.
“Please read it, sir; then you will see who sends it.”
The earl broke the seal, and read the contents of the missive, which ran as follows:—
“Milor,—Although far beneath you in station, I claim as a right some explanation for the great wrong you have done me. I have always been given to understand that an English gentleman is never wanting in courtesy towards a stranger, however humble may be his birth, and I hope I am not mistaken. I request an interview. This surely you will not deny me, for I have a terrible reckoning to demand of you. If I were a reckless bravo, a lawless freebooter, I should waylay you and have my revenge, but I am neither of these. You know best how deeply you have injured me, and as a man of honour you cannot refuse to hear what I have to say. I shall await you at the foot of the large lime-tree, which stands at the corner of Alacia Pass. Tell my messenger whether you will be there.”