At this moment Revere's man rode up to the porch, dismounted, touched his hat, and held out a letter, reporting,—
"I did not find them, sir."
"They are here, Baker. I'll take the letter. Say nothing about it to any one, and then go back to the inn and arrange to bring the trunks of the two ladies over here."
Revere had descended to the foot of the steps to meet the man, and he had spoken softly when referring to the letter, so that all the party on the porch heard of the colloquy was the direction about the baggage. Nor had any of them, except Emily, seen the man hand him the letter. With it in his hand, Revere walked up the steps and handed it to his betrothed without a word. A glance told her that it was addressed to Josephine Remington, and Emily understood instantly that it was the famous letter about which they had quarrelled.
What should she do was in her mind; what would she do in his. Her temptation was strong. It would have been a triumph to have handed the letter over to Josephine at once. She hesitated for a few seconds, and, choosing the greater triumph, thrust it quietly into the bosom of her dress. She had decided not to give it to Josephine, after all, so Revere read her smiling gesture, and in the same mute, eloquent way he thanked her for her forbearance.
"Who is this coming up the path?" said Josephine, tactfully, breaking the pause which threatened to become an awkward one, and pointing to the brow of the hill.
"It is Captain Barry," answered Emily, glad of the interruption.
"The old sailor of whom I spoke to you, madam," said the admiral, turning to Mrs. Revere.
"The man who rowed the boat the night Emily pulled me out of the water, mother," Revere explained.
"My man," said Mrs. Revere, graciously, as Barry stopped at the foot of the steps and saluted, "I have to thank you for a great deal, I understand. It was your strength and determination, coupled with this young lady's skill, that saved the life of my son. I owe you much, sir."