“Admit the stranger, landlord,” said Blood.
A sorrowful-looking fellow walked in, hat in hand. He was very wet from head to foot, and his clothes were in rags around him.
“Have you seen her?”
“Her answer is here,” said the stranger, producing a small note out of his breast pocket.
Blood tore it open, and read it.
His eye sparkled with fire, and his handsome features twitched as he perused its contents, which ran as follows:—
“Sir,—Our first meeting, I fear, has caused much uneasiness and unhappiness to both.
“But, notwithstanding your constant letters and frequent visits to Darlington, I fear that your intentions cannot be so disinterested towards me as your eloquent notes would have me believe.
“This thought has often occurred to my mind since I first imprudently met you, and is more and more confirmed by the fact that you impress upon me the necessity of keeping our correspondence a secret from my dear old father, which no person, having honourable intentions, would ever propose to a simple country girl.
“As a last favour I beg that you will no more insult me with your proposals of eloping from my father’s roof, or ever again presume to throw yourself purposely in my path to pour poisonous councils into my ears.