"Maisie, Lady Rosemary Granton will be here this week-end."
"Yes, sir!" she answered. "I am to have the honour of looking after her rooms."
I laid my hand gently on her shoulder.
"I want you to do something for me, Maisie. I want you to give her this letter,—see that she gets it when she is alone. It is more important to her than you can ever dream of. She must have it within a few hours of her arrival. No one else must set eyes on it between now and then. Do you understand, Maisie?"
"Oh, yes, sir! You can trust me for that."
"I know I can, Maisie. You are a good girl."
I gave her the letter and she placed it in the safest, the most secret, place she knew,—her bosom. Then her eyes scanned me over.
"Oh! sir," she cried, in sudden alarm, "you are hurt. You are bleeding."
I put my hand to my cheek, but then I remembered I had already wiped away the few drops of blood from there with my handkerchief.
"Your arm, sir," she pointed.