There was a moon that night, but occasionally a rift of fleecy clouds obscured its brightness, and it was just as it had passed into one of these misty ridges that Roy met in the avenue with two men, one carrying a bundle, a little in advance of the other, who was walking slowly toward Oakwood. Without a thought as to who they were, Roy bade them a civil good-evening, as was his custom with every one, and then went on his way, while the two men did the same. One was a man sent with some work which had been done for Georgie in town, the other a stranger, who eyed the house curiously as he approached it, and who hesitated a moment when he saw his neighbor go round to a side door and ring the bell. Standing in the shadow, he waited until the ring was answered, and he heard the man say: “A bundle for Miss Burton, from Slosson’s, and the bill.”
Taking them both, the servant bade the young man wait a moment while he carried them to Miss Burton, who had gone to her room. The bill was paid, and the messenger from Slosson’s departed, while the stranger stepped to the door, and asked for “Miss Georgie Burton.”
“Gone to her room,” was the reply, as had been anticipated, while the stranger added: “Please hand her this—other bill,” and he held out a sealed envelope, addressed to Miss Georgie Burton, adding, when the servant asked if an answer was required: “Not to-night; to-morrow will do as well.”
The next moment the stranger had disappeared under the dense shadow of the trees; and the servant was on her way to Georgie’s room.
Georgie was very tired, and had signified to Maude her intention of retiring early. The arrival of the Slosson bill had retarded her movements somewhat, and she had just locked her door and let down her long flowing hair, when a second knock interrupted her, and she looked out a little impatiently to see what was wanted.
“Another bill, which the man said could wait till to-morrow,” was the girl’s laconic remark, as she handed her mistress the note, and then walked away.
“Another bill? I did not know there was another,” Georgie thought, as she relocked her door, and went back beneath the gas to open the envelope.
But what was it which made her turn so white, and reel like a drunken creature, while her heart gave such violent bounds that she felt as if it were forcing itself into her throat. There could be but one handwriting like that, and she stood for a moment perfectly rigid, with her eyes glued to the name, “Miss Georgie Burton;” then with fingers from which all the blood had receded, leaving no feeling in them, she tore open her letter and read:
“Dear Lu:
“If you wish to avoid exposure, meet me to-night at twelve o’clock in the woodbine arbor at the foot of the garden. I have no desire to harm you, or spoil the fun to-morrow, but money I must have, so bring whatever you have about you, or if your purse chances to be empty, bring jewelry. I saw you with some superb diamonds on one night at the opera last winter. Don’t go into hysterics. You’ve nothing to fear from me if you come down generous and do the fair thing. I reckon you are free from me, as I’ve been gone more than seven years.