It was quite late in the evening when Jem, her messenger, returned.
"Have you an answer?" she impetuously demanded, rising to meet him as he entered.
"Yes, miss, here it is," replied the boy, handing a neatly folded, highly perfumed little note.
"Go," said Cap, curtly, as she received it.
And when the boy had bowed and withdrawn, she threw herself into a chair, and with little respect for the pretty device of the pierced heart with which the note was sealed, she tore it open and devoured its contents.
Why did Capitola's cheeks and lips blanch white as death? Why did her eyes contract and glitter like stilettoes? Why was her breath drawn hard and laboriously through clenched teeth and livid lips?
That note was couched in the most insulting terms.
Capitola's first impulse was to rend the paper to atoms and grind those atoms to powder beneath her heel. But a second inspiration changed her purpose.
"No—no—no! I will not destroy you, precious little note! No legal document involving the ownership of the largest estate, no cherished love letter filled with vows of undying affection, shall be more carefully guarded! Next to my heart shall you lie. My shield and buckler shall you be! My sure defense and justification! I know what to do with you, my precious little jewel! You are the warrant for the punishment of that man, signed by his own hand." And so saying Capitola carefully deposited the note in her bosom.
Then she lighted her chamber lamp, and, taking it with her, went down-stairs to her uncle's bedroom.