In the depths below a bell rang; Beatrice's feet pounded up from the basement. They came on from flight to flight, up the bare boards to the attics, and ended with a single bang on the door. "Miss Lettus, 's a letter for you!" Lettice went with her soft, unhurried step to take it in. She carried it to the lamp, and stood arrested, staring at the envelope.
Dorothea was sitting up, her dark hair tumbling about her eyes. "Oh, Lettice, what is it?"
"From the prison," said Lettice, opening the envelope and drawing out the enclosure with a steady hand. From across the room Dorothea could see that it was not in Gardiner's handwriting; and then she saw Lettice's face change, and her heart turned over in her breast.
"Lettice—!"
"What?" said Lettice, absorbed. "O-oh no, it's all right; it's only that—he's hurt his hand—"
Dorothea turned her face to the wall and said her prayers.
This was the letter which Lettice received:
Dear Miss Smith,—I have permission to write you a short note on business.
I am anxious about my hotel. It has been in the hands of a caretaker all winter; but for the summer season I had arranged for my housekeeper to come back, and most of the servants. The housekeeper is a trustworthy person, and quite competent to run the place herself; but I can't very well give her carte blanche with my banking account, and I'm sure she wouldn't accept it if I did. What I want is somebody to sign checks, manage the correspondence, and act as figurehead. Practically what you did last year. Will you take it on again? I should have every confidence in you, and of course it is your proper place. As far as I know at present, I propose, if it suits you, to be married as soon as I leave in October, and go out to Rochehaut for the winter. Please let me know if this fits in with your views.
I must apologize for my writing, but I have been laid up in hospital with a touch of the old trouble in my hand. When I come out, I believe I am to go on the farm. The governor has most kindly remitted the rest of my punishment, and I shall be allowed to see a visitor next month as usual. Will you let Merion-Smith know, if you are writing to him?
Sincerely,
H. C. Gardiner.
Dorothea at first had turned her eyes scrupulously away; but they were back now, and searching Lettice's face for news. That face wore a decidedly queer and pensive look. She refolded the letter with careful exactness.