"Yes, sar," replied Lem, inwardly wondering what the "ole 'oman" would say to this if she heard it.
"You are to give it to no one but herself—neither to Mrs. Tom nor Carl; and you must not let any one see you giving it either. Why, where the deuce can it be? I surely have not lost it?"
All this time he had been searching in his pockets, but the note was nowhere to be found. He felt in his vest-pocket, where he had placed it, then in his coat-pockets, then back again to his vest. All in vain. The note was gone!
"I must have dropped it on the way, confound it!" he muttered, angrily. "What if any one should find it? But, luckily, if they do, there is no clew by which they will discover me to be the writer. Well, I must write another, that is all."
He took a pencil from his pocket, tore a leaf out of his tablet, and wrote a few lines. Then he consigned them to Lem, with the caution:
"Be sure you do not lose it, nor let any one see you deliver it. And this is for your trouble—and silence. You understand?"
"Sartin, marse," said Lem, rolling up his eyes with a volume of meaning; and he pocketed with unfeigned delight the silver coin. "I's dumb, and nobody'll see me givin' Miss Christie dis. Cotch a weasel asleep."
"All right, then; push off," said Drummond, as, with a mind intensely relieved, he sprang up the bank, while his messenger set off for the island.
Meantime we must return to the parsonage.
Scarcely had Drummond gone, when Mrs. Courtney entered, and took the seat he had just vacated beside Sibyl. Noticing Captain Campbell only by a grave bow—for the watchful eyes of her husband were upon her—she entered into a low-toned conversation with Sibyl.