(The servant enters.)
Bring that horse round, you rascal,—must I be under your orders too, forsooth?
Ser't. Certainly, your honor,—but if he could but just, —I am a-going, Sir,—but if he could but just take a mouthful or two more. There's never a baiting-place till—
Mait. Do you hear?
(The Servant retreats hastily.)
Mait. The curse of having lived in these wilds cleaves to me in all things. Here are Andre and Mortimer, and a hundred more, and none but I for this midnight service.
Ser't. (Re-entering.) The horse is waiting, Sir,—but here's two of these painted creturs hanging about the door, waiting to see you. (Handing him a packet.) There's no use in swearing at them, Sir, they don't understand it.
Mait. (Breaking the seals hastily, he discovers the miniature.) Back again! Well, we'll try drowning next,—nay, this is as I sent it! That rascal dropped it in the woods perhaps! Softly,—what have we here!
(He discovers, and reads the letter.)
Who brought this?