“I implore you not to let her know the cause of this sad parting. It would keep her in awful suspense and misery, and perhaps be as fatal to her, as I myself should be. She is so good and dutiful, and trusts me so entirely, that if you say it is my wish, for reasons you approve of—however she may grieve about it, she will not rebel. Come for her, or send for her, without my knowledge, without the knowledge of any one near our place; for if the story got abroad, I should go mad at once. My only hope lies in perfect quiet; therefore she must not write to me, and I must not hear a word, even from yourself, about her. She must not stop to pack up clothes, or anything whatever; for if I came in, I should destroy her, if I saw it. But order particularly that she shall take every farthing in the house she knows of, to equip her for her long voyage in a seaport town. The money is her own; and she must take it.
“I send this by hand, as I know not where you are; but the bearer knows how to find you. There is no answer, except to do what I implore most pitifully, if you wish to save your only child from a fearful death, at the hands of the one who loves her so madly. I pray God that you may be yet in time. I feel a little calmer after writing this. This morning I was in agony at the sight of water. May the Lord have you, and my darling in his keeping. Oh, how base I have been, but I have done no murder yet!
“Your heart-broken son-in-law,
“C. Orchardson.”
When I had finished, my uncle spoke; for Kitty could only press my hand, and sometimes look at me, and sometimes turn her eyes away and blush.
“These are the things,” my uncle said, “that make one ashamed of being called a man. No snake could do such a thing, and no dog would, however mankind might train him. And the bit of piety towards the end! The father was a blackguard, the mother a Fury, the son is the Devil with all his angels. Oh Kit, Kit, I am old, and have met with a great deal of wickedness, but none like this.”
“But you know, Uncle Corny, you must not be disturbed,” said Kitty going up to him, and kissing his forehead, in her sweet and graceful way, “just because there happen to be bad people in the world. It has always been so, and I fear it always must. And you must not imagine that Kit meant any harm, by—by just borrowing Auntie Coldpepper’s dog. He did it—oh, so cleverly—just for the sake of seeing me; and he quite changed the character of that dog. But how can that bad man have found it out?”
“Through Harker,” I exclaimed, “through that wretch of a Harker, who was always spying on these premises. Sam Henderson knew it, most likely through him; but Sam would never have spoken of it.”
“It is true, then,” said my uncle. “Well, I thought it was a lie. I am surprised to find that I have a dogstealer for my nephew.”
“It was Tabby made him do it. And I am very glad she did. But the first thing Dr. Cutler said to me, when my heart was nearly broken with his message, was—‘Did your husband steal that dog?’ And of course I said ‘Yes;’ for Kit had told me all about it, when we were at Baycliff; and no doubt that convinced the good doctor that all the rest of that sad wicked letter was true. You know, Uncle Corny, that it was impossible for my father to leave the ship, and he sent his old friend Dr. Cutler to fetch me. Oh, how I did cry all the way! I thought there never would be any more happiness for me. And of course they never told me why I was to go. I thought that Kit must be tired of me; and yet I could not quite believe that, you know. Oh, Kit, I shall never be tired of you.”
“Don’t cry, my darling,” said my uncle kindly. “We have had enough tears to drown that devilish letter. Now sit on Kit’s lap, to make sure of him, and tell me your own adventures, for I have only guessed them yet.”