"P.S.—The inclosed letter came for you in last night's mail. I captured it for you."
With an eager light in her eyes, Edith opened it and read:
"Boston, Feb. —, 18—.
"My Dear Miss Allen:—I have learned of the wretched deception that has been practiced upon you, and hasten to write this to assure you that my previous offer of friendship—when we met at the time of the accident to my coachman—was not a mere matter of form. Again I say, if you need a friend, come to me, and I will do my utmost to shield you from those who have shown themselves your worst enemies, and whom I know to be unworthy of the position which they occupy in the social world. Come to me when you will, and I promise to protect you from them. I cannot say more upon paper.
"Sincerely yours,
Isabel Stewart."
"How very kind, and yet how very strange!" murmured Edith, as she refolded the letter. "I wonder who could have told her about that wretched affair of Tuesday evening. I wonder, too, what she knows about the Goddards, and if I had better accept her friendly offer."
She reflected upon the matter for a few minutes, and then continued:
"I think I will go to New York first, as I had planned, see what Mr. Bryant can do for me, and ascertain the meaning of that strange personal; then I think I will come back and ask her to take me as a companion—for I do not believe that what I shall learn to my financial advantage will amount to enough to preclude the necessity of my doing something for my support. I suppose I ought to answer this letter, though," she added, meditatively; "but I believe I shall not dare to until I am safely away from Boston, for if my reply should fall into the hands of any member of this family, my plans might be frustrated."
She carefully concealed both notes about her person, and then sat down to await orders to go below.