"Something is true—but not—not the ghastly thing I feared when I wrote you." She seated herself, and the count resumed his chair by the fire. His face was hidden in the shadows. "You mean that your father——"
"Is alive and well!" Her voice quivered and broke. Two shining tears trembled for a moment upon her lashes., and then sped down her cheeks. Others followed. She smiled through them. "I am so happy—so thankful!" she murmured.
"How did you learn this—wonderful news?" The count's voice, though low, rang like steel on stone.
She gave him a startled look, and withdrew the note from its warm resting place and handed it silently to him.
"May I take it to the light?" Without waiting for permission, he rose and stepped to the window. He stood with his eyes glued to the oblong strip of paper. A curious greyish pallor had spread across his countenance, and his hands shook. A gust of strong rage overtook him, as he stared down at the familiar handwriting. "Imbecile!" he muttered. With an effort he collected himself, and turned back to the girl. "Permit me to ask if your aunt has seen this—ah—communication?"
She shook her head. "You see, he—he has forbidden me to speak!" Tears clouded her vision.
The sternness melted out of his face, but he put another question.
"And your estimable young friend whom I met at the door?"
"No."
He took a deep breath and returned to his place at her side.