"I was thinking so," He said; when at that moment Hickens came in with a letter. The man noticed the white handkerchief and its stains.
"You have met with an accident, sir."
"Ah," said Mr. Chandos, in a tone of raillery, as if making light of the affair, "this comes, Hickens, of doing things in a hurry. You must bring me a basin of warm water. I attempted to open the window, not observing it was fastened, and my hand slipped through the glass. Close the shutters. At once."
Hickens went to the window: I stood by Mr. Chandos with the linen rag. "Presently," he nodded; "I must wait for the water. Open this for me, will you, Anne?"
I unsealed the letter, and opened it. In handing it to him, my eyes accidentally fell upon my own name.
"It is about me!" I exclaimed, in thoughtless impulse. Mr. Chandos ran his eyes over the lines—there were but few—and a scowl contracted his brow. He read them over again, and then folded the letter with his one hand.
"Hickens, who brought this? When did it come?"
"It came but now, sir. A lad brought it to the back-door. I happened to be standing there, and took it from him. 'For Mr. Chandos,' he said, and turned away. I thought how quickly he made off."
"Should you know him again?"
"No, sir, I think not. I'm not sure, though."