“There it is for you.” I gave him the letter I had just read—the enclosure I kept back. He glanced over the informer’s writing. With an angry curse, he crumpled up the paper, and sprang from his seat.
“Infamous!” he cried, “and where is the proof he speaks of?”
“Here, not opened. Frederick, say one word only, and I throw the thing into the fire. I do not want to see any proofs that you have betrayed me.”
“Oh, my own one!” He was now by my side, and embraced me closely. “My treasure! Look into my eyes. Do you doubt me? Proof or no proof—is my word enough for you?”
“Yes,” I said, and threw the paper into the fire.
But it did not fall into the flames, but remained close to the bars. Frederick jumped up to get it, and picked it out.
“No, no! we must not destroy that. I am too curious. We will look at it together. I do not recollect ever writing anything to your friend which could lead to the inference of a relation which does not exist.”
“But you have smitten her, Frederick. You have only to throw your handkerchief to her.”
“Do you think so? Come, let us look at this document. Right, my own hand. Oh, look here! It is surely the two lines which you dictated to me some weeks back, when you had hurt your right hand.”
“My Lori! come. I am anxiously expecting you to-day at five P.M.