"Hand me that letter, Bignetta. No, give it to Miss Blair and go away, she can read it to me."
Margaret took the letter, inserted her finger to break the seal; glanced at the seal, and withdrew her finger as if it had been stung, glanced at the writing, and slowly became stern and pale.
"Why don't you open it and read its contents?" cried my lady. "Are you tired of reading all the condolence that comes to me, or do you think it is some insolent bill?"
"Lady Juliana," said Margaret, "I cannot read this letter. I—I know the writer."
She covered her face with her hands.
"Why, what can you mean?" exclaimed my lady, getting upon her elbows to possess herself of the letter, and to look curiously at her companion. "Who is it?"
She looked at her own name on the back, and gave a delighted cry.
"Captain Brand! So he deigns to remember me at last! Ah, won't I make him suffer, for being so derelict in his duty these last three weeks! Careless creature! he never thinks of me, except when he sees me."
She laid down the letter and returned to the charge.
"How came you, Miss Blair, to be so well informed about Captain Brand's writing?" she demanded.