MRS. S. There was no name, but merely the initials C. R.
PEGGY. C. R. Samuel something or other I dare say—but he gave his address?
MRS. S. No; simply the words “Post Office, to be left till called for.” Of course, I took no notice of it whatever, and had forgotten the circumstance altogether, when a month afterwards to the very day—the very hour—I was then at Florence, I received a second communication, couched in precisely the same words, and again subsequently at Venice, Naples, and Milan.
PEGGY. Dear, dear, it’s as good as a play! Then you never took any notice of the fellow at all?
MRS. S. Yes; a circumstance, the bare recollection of which makes me shudder even at this lapse of time, compelled me to break through the silence I had hitherto imposed upon myself: in travelling through Switzerland, on my return to England, the carriage which I occupied was one night placed in imminent peril by the restiveness of one of the horses; fortunately, I was asleep, and was not aware of my danger till I was assured of my safety—within a few feet of a fearful precipice, the traces had been cut, by a man who had evidently followed me, judge then of my astonishment when a voice uttered these words in my ear, “You see, madam, I have kept my promise, I am still near you.”
PEGGY. Well, he was a fine brave gentleman, whoever he was; and what was he like—eh?
MRS. S. He had disappeared before I could even thank him for his timely and generous assistance.
PEGGY. Well?
MRS. S. Well? (hesitatingly) his next letter, which reached me shortly after my return to England, did not remain unanswered.