“As she approached the disturbed beauty, the tension in her mien relaxed, and she regarded the distrait countenance before her with a glance that was anything but unfriendly, in so far as it was possible to determine the nature of the sentiment in hiding behind that austere visage.
“Directly she stood by the table which Lal Lu had interposed as a sort of barricade against advances of her impetuous lover, and with an attempt at a smile, which could as readily find acceptance as a repentant scowl, this singular being inserted her hand in the folds of the tunic which defended her parchment bosom, and produced from that barren demesne a folded missive, which she placed in the hands of the astonished Lal Lu.
“With trembling haste she exposed the inner surface of the paper, and with a glad heart and filial trust read:
“‘Be not afraid; relief is at hand.’
“There was no signature; none was needed.
“In a moment Lal Lu recognized her father’s familiar chirography, and as she reflected upon his well-known sagacity and resourceful boldness, her hope and courage renewed their belated assurances.
“‘Who gave you this?’ she asked.
“The waiting-woman, after a brief hesitation, in which inclination and restraint left their disturbing traces, replied:
“‘That I must not reveal.’
“‘At least,’ insisted Lal Lu, whose quick glance had detected the irresolution of the instant preceding, ‘at least, tell me this: Was it my father?’