“Has your uncle received any answer from Major Fitz-David?” he inquired.
“Yes.
“Were you allowed to read it?” His voice sank as he said those words; his face betrayed a sudden anxiety which it pained me to see.
“I have got the answer with me to show you,” I said.
He almost snatched the letter out of my hand; he turned his back on me to read it by the light of the moon. The letter was short enough to be soon read. I could have repeated it at the time. I can repeat it now.
“DEAR VICAR—Mr. Eustace Woodville is quite correct in stating to you that he is a gentleman by birth and position, and that he inherits (under his deceased father’s will) an independent fortune of two thousand a year.
“Always yours,
“LAWRENCE FITZ-DAVID.”
“Can anybody wish for a plainer answer than that?” Eustace asked, handing the letter back to me.
“If I had written for information about you,” I answered, “it would have been plain enough for me.”
“Is it not plain enough for your uncle?”