“Charming, cruel girl!” cried I, dropping on one knee,—“why will you thus sport with my feelings? Where else should I seek for my true love but here?”
I don’t know what might have been the sequel of the scene, had not my good genius, in the shape of Mysie the servant girl, at this moment burst into the apartment. Miss Binkie with great presence of mind dropped her handkerchief, which afforded me an excellent excuse for recovering my erect position.
Mysie was the bearer of a billet, addressed to myself, and marked “private and particular.” I opened it and read as follows:—
“Sir—Some of those who are well disposed towards you have arranged to meet this night, and are desirous of a private interview, at which full and mutual explanations may be given. It may be right to mention to you that the question of the currency will form the basis of any political arrangement; and it is expected that you will then be prepared to state explicitly your views with regard to bullion. Something more than pledges upon this subject will be required.
“As this meeting will be a strictly private one, the utmost secresy must be observed. Be on the bridge at eleven o’clock this night, and you will be conducted to the appointed place. Do not fail, as you value your own interest.—Yours, &c.
“Shell Out.”
“Who brought this letter, Mysie?” said I, considerably flustered at its contents.
“A laddie. He said there was nae answer, and ran awa’.”
“No bad news, I hope, Mr Dunshunner?” said Margaret timidly.