There was no need for a parley; the postage was paid; and Maynard took the letter.
The superscription was in the handwriting of a gentleman. It was new to him. There was nothing strange in that. An author fast rising into fame, he was receiving such every day.
But he started on turning the envelope to tear it open. There was a crest upon it he at once recognised. It was the crest of the Vernons!
Not rudely now was the cream-laid covering displaced but carefully, and with hesitating hand.
And with fingers that shook like aspen leaves, did he spread out the contained sheet, also carrying the crest.
They became steadier, as he read:—
“Sir,—
“Your last words to me were:—‘I hope the time may come when you will look less severely on my conduct!’ Mine to you, if I remember aright, were ‘NOT LIKELY!’
“Older than yourself, I deemed myself wiser. But the oldest and wisest may be at times mistaken. I do not deem it a humiliation to confess that I have been so, and about yourself. And, sir, if you do not think it such to forgive my abrupt—I should rather say, barbarous—behaviour, it would rejoice me once more to welcome you as my guest. Captain Maynard! I am much changed since you last saw me—in the pride both of spirit and person. I am upon my deathbed; and wish to see you before parting from the world.
“There is one by my side, watching over me, who wishes it too. You will come!