Dr. Rosenthal himself went out to see what this very late summons might mean.
It was the penny postman of his district. And the minister started; for this was an unheard of hour for the penny postman to present himself.
“Yes, doctor, it is I,” said the man, handing a letter to the minister. “You see, it came by the late mail, and, being a foreign letter, I thought it might be from your son who went out to the Indies, and so I thought I wouldn’t keep you waiting for it until the regular delivery to-morrow morning, but I would just step around with it to-night.”
“A thousand thanks, my friend. It is from my son! It is in his handwriting. A thousand thanks! this is a real act of kindness, which I shall never cease to remember,” said the minister, earnestly, as he received the letter.
“Oh, don’t mention such a trifle, doctor. Good-night, sir,” said the kind-hearted penny postman, taking himself off.
“Erminie, my dear, here is a letter from your brother!” exclaimed the minister, bursting into the library with all the vehemence of a schoolboy.
“Oh!” cried his daughter, jumping to meet him.
And for the time being Colonel Eastworth was “left out in the cold.”
“Ah! pray excuse us, sir! Have we your permission?” inquired the minister, suddenly recollecting himself and bowing to his guest.
“Oh, certainly, certainly! Am I not one of yourselves? Pray do not mind me,” replied Colonel Eastworth, smiling, and then turning his whole attention to Gustave Doré, which lay still before him.