‘Well, May, I leave him to your care; but do not let him talk any more.’
‘Oh! sir,’ said the Duke, ‘I really had forgotten. I am the bearer to you, sir, of a letter from Mr. Arundel Dacre.’ He gave it him.
As Mr. Dacre read the communication, his countenance changed, and the smile which before was on his face, vanished. But whether he were displeased, or only serious, it was impossible to ascertain, although the Duke watched him narrowly. At length he said, ‘May! here is a letter from Arundel, in which you are much interested.’
‘Give it me, then, papa!’
‘No, my love; we must speak of this together. But I am pressed for time. When I come home. Remember.’ He quitted the room.
They were alone: the Duke began again talking, and Miss Dacre put her finger to her mouth, with a smile.
‘I assure you,’ said he, ‘I am not wearied. I slept at——y, and the only thing I now want is a good walk. Let me be your companion this morning!’
‘I was thinking of paying nurse a visit. What say you?’
‘Oh! I am ready; anywhere.’
She ran for her bonnet, and he kissed her handkerchief, which she left behind, and, I believe, everything else in the room which bore the slightest relation to her. And then the recollection of Arundel’s letter came over him, and his joy fled. When she returned, he was standing before the fire, gloomy and dull.