He turned at the street-door, saw that radiant and gentle face beaming after him, and they kissed hands to each other by one impulse, as if they were parting for ever so long.
He had gone scarcely half an hour when a letter, addressed to her, was left at the door by a private messenger.
“Any answer?” inquired the servant.
“No.”
The letter was sent up, and delivered to her on a silver salver.
She opened it; it was a thing new to her in her young life—an anonymous letter.
“MISS BRUCE—I am almost a stranger to you, but I know your character from others, and cannot bear to see you abused. You are said to be about to marry Sir Charles Bassett. I think you can hardly be aware that he is connected with a lady of doubtful repute, called Somerset, and neither your beauty nor your virtue has prevailed to detach him from that connection.
“If, on engaging himself to you, he had abandoned her, I should not have said a word. But the truth is, he visits her constantly, and I blush to say that when he leaves you this day it will be to spend the afternoon at her house.
“I inclose you her address, and you can learn in ten minutes whether I am a slanderer or, what I wish to be,
“A FRIEND OF INJURED INNOCENCE.” [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]