“I will, directly; I am just going to pour out some more tea for mamma.”
Finally the justice finished his breakfast, and strolled out into the garden.
Barbara opened her letter; Mrs. Hare watched her movements and her countenance. She saw the latter flush suddenly and vividly, and then become deadly pale; she saw Barbara crush the note in her hand when read.
“Oh, mamma!” she uttered.
The flush of emotion came also into Mrs. Hare’s delicate cheeks. “Barbara, is it bad news?”
“Mamma, it—it—is about Richard,” she whispered, glancing at the door and window, to see that none might be within sight or hearing. “I never thought of him; I only fancied Anne might be sending me some bit of news concerning her own affairs. Good Heavens! How fortunate—how providential that papa did not see the paper fall; and that you did not persist in your inquiries. If he—”
“Barbara, you are keeping me in suspense,” interrupted Mrs. Hare, who had also grown white. “What should Anne know about Richard?”
Barbara smoothed out the writing, and held it before her mother. It was as follows:—
“I have had a curious note from R. It was without date or signature, but I knew his handwriting. He tells me to let you know, in the most sure and private manner that I can, that he will soon be paying another night visit. You are to watch the grove every evening when the present moon gets bright.”
Mrs. Hare covered her face for some minutes. “Thank God for all his mercies,” she murmured.