Grant smiled, more with his lips than his eyes. “Yes,” he said, “I guess I did. I taught you to shoot as well as most men, Hetty.”
Hetty gasped again and sank limply into the nearest chair. “What brought you here?” she said. “Still, you can’t get away now. Sit down, Larry.”
Grant sat down with a bow to Miss Schuyler, and fumbled in the pocket of his big fur coat. “I came to give you something you sent me by mistake,” he said. “I would not have come this way if I could have helped it, but I saw there was a man with a rifle every here and there as I crept up through the bluff, and it was quite a while before I could swing myself up by a pillar on to the verandah. You have been anxious about this, Hetty?”
He laid a packet on the table, and Hetty’s eyes shone as she took it up.
“Couldn’t you have given it to somebody to bring me? It would have been ever so much safer,” she said.
“No,” said the man simply, “I don’t think I could.”
Hetty understood him, and so did Miss Schuyler, while the meaning of the glance her companion cast at her was equally plain. Miss Torrance’s face was still pallid, but there was pride in her eyes.
“I wonder if you guessed what was in that letter, Mr. Grant?” Flora Schuyler asked.
Larry smiled. “I think I have a notion.”
“Of course!” said Hetty impulsively. “We knew you had, and that was why we felt certain you would try to bring it back to me.”