“It is from my father!” gasped Julian, sinking helplessly back into his chair.
“Is it? Then give it to me,” said a stern voice close at his elbow.
A hand suddenly appeared from behind his chair, and clutching the letter, attempted to snatch it from his grasp, but the boy’s fingers closed upon it with a most determined grip. Thinking of the emigrant, he started up with a cry of alarm to find himself confronted by Uncle Reginald, whose face was as black as a thunder-cloud.
CHAPTER XXV.
HOW IT RESULTED.
WHEN PEDRO took charge of Julian’s horse he did not lead him directly to the stable, but to the back part of the house, where he left him until he could run into the kitchen and procure another lantern. When he came out again he made a thorough examination of the animal, and having at last satisfied himself that he made no mistake, he ran into the house and pounded loudly upon the door of Uncle Reginald’s bed-room. The summons quickly brought that gentleman to his feet, and when the numerous bolts and locks had been undone, Pedro pushed open the door and entered without ceremony. The excitement and alarm depicted upon his features must have been contagious, for no sooner did Mr. Mortimer glance at his face than his own assumed a very anxious look.
“Did Julian ride Snowdrop away this morning, or did I dream it?” asked Pedro, before he was fairly inside the door.
“You did not dream it,” was the reply. “He did. Why do you ask the question?”