I rose, and as she held out her hand I took it and kissed it reverently—so reverently, that she drew me to her, and touched my forehead with her lips.
“Go now, Antony,” she said, “and I think it will be better that you should not return to the printing-office. I will arrange with Mr Ruddle about that. A letter from me will be sufficient. And look here, Antony: you will come here to me every Saturday, and Sunday too, if you like. You need stand upon no ceremony—tut come. You will not be sorry to leave the office?”
“Oh no,” I said; “but I shall regret leaving Mr Hallett.”
I thought it was fancy then, as I seemed to see a spasm shoot through her. She said no more to me, but pressed something into my hand, and I went downstairs.
I felt very proud as I made my way along the streets, wondering what was in the packet Miss Carr had given me, and longing for an opportunity to open it.
The park seemed the most suitable place, and, making my way there, I lay down on the soft turf in a secluded place, opened the packet, and found in it a letter and a purse containing two five-pound notes.
The letter was dated the night before, and it was very brief:
“My dear Antony,—
“I have thought that you may need several things in commencing your new life, and as I wish you to appear as a gentleman’s son who means to work earnestly, I should provide serviceable clothes. I leave the rest to your common-sense and discretion.
“Yours affectionately,—
“Miriam Carr.”
“My dear Antony,” “yours affectionately,” I repeated to myself; and as I lay there, after safely placing the note and purse in my pockets, I wished earnestly that the dead could know and thank one who had so evidently my welfare at heart.
Mary soon knew of my good fortune, but did not seem at all surprised.