"A squabble was imminent. I covered my boy's face with a handkerchief, to keep him quiet.
"'Listen!' I said. 'It's the post. The mail from the north was stopped on the highway, but he has saved the bags, and is riding hard for London.'
"'It's—'
"But the new suggestion was drowned in a general shout of—
"'It's coming up the lane!'
"The footfalls had diverged from the main road, and were coming up the sandy lane that skirted our wall. The boys lifted their heads, and we sat expectant. There was a pause, and a familiar gate-click, and then the footfalls broke upon the carriage-road, close by us. A man in livery, upon a well-groomed horse—nothing more, but rather an uncommon sight with us. Moreover, the man and his livery were strange, and the horse looked tired.
"This event broke up the sitting, and we were strolling up to the house, when a maid met us, saying that my mother wished to see me and Fatima.
"We found my mother sewing, with an opened letter beside her. It was written on one of the large quarto sheets then in use, and it was covered and crossed, at every available corner, in a vague, scratchy hand.
"'I have heard from an old friend of mine, Mary,' said my mother. 'She has come to live about twelve miles from here. There is something in the letter about you and Fatima, and you may read that part aloud, if you can. The top of the last page.'
"I found the place, and, with some difficulty, deciphered: 'The dear Major was all delicacy and consideration—'