The poor girl's voice faltered as she spoke, and I thought I saw the glisten of tears in her eyes. She had borne so brave and calm a front through all her trouble, that this suggestion of a sob wrung my heart with the cruelty of a novel sorrow. I drew my chair nearer to her.
"Tell me about it all, Daisy--if you can."
Her answer was to impulsively take a letter from her pocket and hand it to me. She would have recalled it an instant later.
"No--give it me back," she cried. "I forgot! There are things in it you should not see."
But even as I held it out to her, she changed her mind once again.
"No--read it," she said, sinking back in her chair; "it can make no difference--between us. You might as well know all!"
The "all" could not well have been more hateful. I smoothed out the folded sheet over my knee, and read these words, written in a loose, bold character, with no date or designation of place, and with the signature scrawled grandly like the sign-manual of a duke, at least:
"Madam:--It is my purpose to return to Cairncross forthwith, though you are not to publish it.
"If I fail to find you there residing, as is your duty, upon my arrival, I shall be able to construe the reasons for your absence, and shall act accordingly.
"I am fully informed of your behavior in quitting my house the instant my back was turned, and in consorting publicly with my enemies, and with ruffian foes to law and order generally.