“The writer of the letter in question is a sufficient guarantee for its honor, Mr. Withering.”
“Mr. Withering!” repeated he, with a start, and then, as suddenly assuming an easy smile, added: “I am perfectly tranquil to find myself in such hands as Mr. Withering's. And what, pray, does he say of me?”
“Will you excuse me, Major Stapylton, if I do not enter upon a subject on which I am not merely very imperfectly informed, but on which so humble a judgment as mine would be valueless? My brother showed me the letter very hurriedly; I had but time to see to what it referred, and to be aware that it was his duty to let you see it at once,—if possible, indeed, before you were again under his roof.”
“What a grave significance your words have, Miss Barrington!” said he, with a cold smile. “They actually set me to think over all my faults and failings, and wonder for which of them I am now arraigned.”
“We do not profess to judge you, sir.”
By this time they had sauntered up to the little garden in front of the cottage, within the paling of which Josephine was busily engaged in training a japonica. She arose as she heard the voices, and in her accustomed tone wished Stapylton good-evening. “She, at least, has heard nothing of all this,” muttered he to himself, as he saluted her. He then opened the little wicket; and Miss Barrington passed in, acknowledging his attention by a short nod, as she walked hastily forward and entered the cottage. Instead of following her, Stapylton closed the wicket again, remaining on the outside, and leaning his arm on the upper rail.
“Why do you perform sentry? Are you not free to enter the fortress?” said Fifine.
“I half suspect not,” said he, in a low tone, and to hear which she was obliged to draw nigher to where he stood.
“What do you mean? I don't understand you!”
“No great wonder, for I don't understand myself. Your aunt has, however, in her own most mysterious way, given me to believe that somebody has written something about me to somebody else, and until I clear up what in all probability I shall never hear, that I had better keep to what the Scotch call the 'back o' the gate.'”