CHAPTER XXX
Ellis had but just cast herself, in deep disturbance, upon a chair, when her door was opened, without tapping, or any previous ceremony, by Mr Giles Arbe; who smilingly enquired after her health, with the familiar kindness of an intimate old friend; but, receiving no immediate answer, gave her a nod, that said, don't mind me; and, sitting down by her side, began talking to himself.
Roused by this interruption, she begged to know his commands.
He finished his speech to himself, before he took any notice of hers, and then, very good humouredly, asked what she wanted.
'May I hope,' she cried, 'that you have the goodness to bring me some answer to my note?'
'What note, my pretty lady?'
'That which you were so obliging as to undertake delivering for me to Miss Arbe?'
He stared and looked amazed, repeating, 'Note?—what note?' but when, at last, she succeeded in making him recollect the circumstance, his countenance fell, and leaning against the back of his chair, while his stick, and a parcel which he held under his arm, dropt to the ground: 'I am frighted to death,' he cried, 'for fear it's that I tore last night, to light my little lamp!'