“I’ve not sealed it, that you might read it,” answered the squire, holding out his letter.
Brereton read it slowly, as if he was thinking between the words. “It shall be sent in at once,” he promised, his lips set as if to conceal some emotion. Then he asked, “You write to Colonel Hennion as if—are he and—you intend to give Miss Meredith to him?”
“Yes.”
Jack wheeled and looked out of a window for an instant; without turning he said, “Is she—does she—she is willing?”
“Ay, the lass has at last found she loves him, and is as ready now as I ever was.”
Again Brereton was silent for a breathing space. “When will they wed?” he questioned finally.
“Once we can get to York.”
“And that will be?”
“The burial of Mrs. Meredith and other matters will keep us in Brunswick for an uncertain length of time.”
“And you will lodge where?”