"I—wish I could comfort him. I am sure he is unhappy."
Her way led her past the newspaper shop kept by Mr. Coles, and the little man himself was standing at his door surveying the world.
"There is a letter in here for you, miss," he said good-naturedly; "it came yesterday morning, and the wife and I made sure you'd be in for it."
Christina started. The events of the day had obliterated from her mind all recollection of the matrimonial advertisement, and the letters that were to be addressed to Mr. Coles's shop. The memory of Wednesday's disappointment came back to her, and as Mr. Coles put into her hand a letter addressed "C.M." in the same bold, strong hand that had addressed the other letter, her momentary inclination was to return it to its writer unopened.
"Perhaps there is some explanation," was her next and saner reflection; and, walking along the street, she opened, and read the letter, feeling a certain compunction as she did so. The address was still that of the newspaper office, and the letter ran—
"DEAR MADAM,—
"I deeply regret that you found the house, at which I had asked you to call, shut up. I reached it a few minutes after you had left, and to my own great surprise found—as you had done—no one there but a caretaker. My friend must have been called away suddenly, for on Tuesday, when I saw her, she most kindly arranged that her house should be at my disposal. Please forgive what must have seemed to you most strange. Would it suit you to arrange any meeting-place that would accord with your wishes? With renewed apologies.
"Yours faithfully,
"R. MERNSIDE."