'Ay, ay, Mistress—leastways——'
Divining that there was something Bob did not wish to say, Marion stepped to the bell rope. Then, feeling in the pocket of her gown, she pulled out her little silk purse. 'You have been very kind,' she began. Bob stepped back.
'Don't ee now, Mistress—don't ee now!' he implored, his blue eyes resting with shy affection on her face. ''Tis a pleasure.'
'Good day, then, Bob,' said Marion, 'and thank you very much indeed. Take Master Tregarthen to the gate,' she added, as the servant entered the room. 'You have of course offered him food and drink?'
'Ay, ay, Mistress,' put in Bob. 'Mutton pie and mashed taties, and strawberry pudding—rare good 'twas. Good day to ee, Mistress, and God bless ee,' added the sailor, as he gave the girl a last look, and lumbered out.
Scarcely waiting for the door to close behind the sailor Marion seized the letter, with trembling fingers tore it open, and read it where she stood. As her eyes travelled down the crooked lines her face blanched. She caught at a chair and unsteadily seated herself. The letter finished, her hands fell on her lap. Not a sound escaped her lips. The minutes ticked by from her aunt's tall clock in a corner of the room.
Presently light footsteps sounded in the hall, and Simone lifted the curtain. Arrested by the stare of the wide grey eyes she stood still for a moment.
'Mademoiselle,' she cried, and coming to her side, sank on her knees and took the terribly still, cold hands in her own. 'What is it? You are ill!'
She sprang to her feet again, her hand towards the bell rope.
'Stay!' whispered Marion. 'I am not ill.'