“Five weeks on Tuesday last.”
“Five weeks!—five weeks lost already! And have you heard what has been done by him?—what success he's met with?”
“No, sir; but you can soon know something about it yourself.”
“How do you mean?—I don't understand you.”
“These are the only two letters he has written as yet. This, one came on Saturday. I always went down in the mornings to Mary M'Kelly's, before the bag came in, and as she could not read over well, I sorted the letters for her myself, and slipped in these among your own.”
Hemsworth and his companion exchanged looks. Probably never did glances more rapidly reveal the sentiments of two hearts. Each, well knew the villainy of the ether; but Hemsworth for the first time saw himself in another's power, and hesitated how far the advantage of the discovery was worth the heavy price he should pay for it; besides that the habits of his life made him regard the breach of confidence, incurred in reading another man's letter, in a very different light from his underbred associate, and he made no gesture to take them from his hand.
“This has an English post-mark,” said Wylie, purposely occupying himself with the letter, to avoid noticing Hemsworth's hesitation.
“You have not broken the seals, I hope,” said Hemsworth, faintly.
“No, sir; I knew better than that,” replied Wylie, with well-assumed caution. “I knew your honour had a right to it, if you suspected the correspondence was treasonable, because you're in the Commission, and it's your duty; but I could'nt venture it, of myself.”
“I'm afraid your law is not very correct, Master Wylie,” said Hemsworth, who felt by no means certain as to the sincerity of the opinion.