“Well, then, I'll tell you. I came because I got a note from her yesterday at Oxford.” Tom paused, for he heard a muttered growl from the other side of the horse's head, and could see, even in the fitful moonlight, the angry toss of the head with which his news was received, “I didn't expect this, Harry,” he went on presently, “after what I told you just now about myself, it was a hard matter to tell it at all; but, after telling you, I didn't think you'd suspect me any more. However, perhaps I've deserved it. So, to go on with what I was saying, two years ago, when I came to my senses about her, and before I cared for anyone else, I told her to write if ever I could do her a service. Anything that a man could do for his sister I was bound to do for her, and I told her so. She never answered till yesterday, when I got this note,” and he dived into the inner breast pocket of his shooting. coat. “If it isn't soaked to pulp, it's in my pocket now. Yes, here it is,” and he produced a dirty piece of paper, and handed it across to his companion. “When there's light enough to read it, you'll see plain enough what she means, though your name is not mentioned.”
Having finished his statement, Tom retired into himself, and walked along watching the hurrying clouds. After they had gone some hundred yards, Harry cleared his throat once or twice, and at last broke out,—
“Master Tom.”
“Well.”
“You bean't offended wi' me, sir, I hopes?”
“No, why should I be offended?”
“'Cause I knows I be so all-fired jealous, I can't a'bear to hear o' her talkin', let alone writin' to—”
“Out with it. To me, you were going to say.”
“Nay, 'tis mwore nor that.”
“All right, Harry, if you only lump me with the rest of mankind, I don't care. But you needn't be jealous of me, and you mustn't be jealous of me, or I sha'n't be able to help you as I want to do. I'll give you my hand and word on it as man to man, there's no thought in my heart towards her that you mightn't see this minute. Do you believe me?”