"But stay a moment," said Dashwood. "Did she put any address on the paper?"
"No. An April fool letter like that isn't generally addressed from anywhere, is it? But the post-mark——"
"I was thinking of that," said Mr. Dashwood.
"The only thing is this," said she. "The post-mark mayn't be legible. Some of these country post-offices use die-stamps that are nearly worn out. Now, can you remember? I have written you several letters since we came here, asking you to bring down things from London. Can you remember whether the post-marks were legible or not?"
"No," said Mr. Dashwood. "I can't." Then, blushing furiously, "But we'll soon see."
He dived his hand into the breast-pocket of his coat, and brought out a small bundle of letters. There were only four letters in the bundle, and they were tied together with a narrow piece of silk ribbon. When the girl saw the silk ribbon, she bit her lip.
"Look!" said he, slipping the ribbon off and thrusting it into his pocket. He showed her the first of the letters. It bore the Crowsnest post-mark, large as a penny, clear, and legible.
The three others were the same.
He put the letters back in his pocket, and they resumed their way in silence. You would never have imagined that the last time these two people parted the young man had held the girl in his arms, kissing her wildly.