“I insist on not being detained, sir,” she cried, indignantly; “you must answer to my father, Colonel Mires, for this unmanly outrage.”
She sprang past him, and was about to rush from the spot, when Chewkle made his appearance, out of breath. He had been running; in his turn he intercepted her—“Beg pardon,” he said, almost inarticulately; “you are Miss Wilton, I b’lieve?”
“I am,” said Flora, readily, for even in this man she believed she should find a protector from the importunities of the now-detested Colonel Mires.
“That’s all right,” responded Mr. Chewkle, still panting. “I’ve been ’untin’ all over the grounds arter you, Miss, for I’ve a very pertikler dockyment to give into your ’ands alone.”
“A document into my hands—what do you mean, my good man?” she responded, with surprise.
“Yes, Miss, a letter,” he returned, with a kind of knowing nod.
Colonel Mires retired a few paces, as if animated by a well-bred desire not to play the part of an eavesdropper.
“Why did you not leave this communication at the Hall?” said Flora, with some misgiving. “Why take so much trouble to find me?”
“Because, as I told you, Miss, I was charged to give it into your ’ands only. You knows Mrs. Harper of Highbury, don’t you, Miss? aunt to poor young Mr. Vivian, poor fellow, poor fellow!”
Flora’s face blanched. His last sentence sounded like the sudden boom of a death-knell in her ear. She tried to speak but found it impossible to articulate a word.