"All—and I have one here for you—whether a reply, or not, I cannot say."
"Only one!"
"The first and only one," replied Rookleigh, who, with all his effrontery and duplicity, felt that he never before stood in such a presence, and could scarcely remember how he answered her; for his mind was filling fast with admiration, his heart beat fast, and his brain seemed to burn.
"A letter from Derval at last! His first letter too—yet it would explain!" were her first ideas. "Be seated, Sir, and for a moment or two, pray do excuse me."
She retired back beyond the silk hangings, and rapidly made herself, more than once, mistress of the contents of that letter, one of coldness, brevity, and farewell—farewell without further explanation—a letter the strange tenor of which startled and bewildered her.
Clara's agitation and confusion were excessive; but sorrow succeeded to surprise in her heart, and indignation to sorrow.
"All is over and ended between your brother and myself, Mr. Rookleigh," said she, with a painful swelling in her slender white throat.
"His letter displeases you?" asked Rookleigh, scarcely knowing what to say, and feeling his heart for a moment fail him.
"Read it," said she, haughtily.
He scarcely required to do so, yet he affected to peruse it, and then knit his narrow brows.