note in the highest spirits, expressing some natural
surprise at his leaving Thorpe Ambrose, but readily promising that the
yacht should be refitted, and offering the hospitality of the rectory in
the heartiest manner.

This letter did wonders in raising Allan's spirits. It gave him a
new interest to look to, entirely disassociated from his past life in
Norfolk. He began to count the days that were still to pass before the
return of his absent friend. It was then Tuesday. If Midwinter came back
from his walking trip, as he had engaged to come back, in a fortnight,
Saturday would find him at Thorpe Ambrose. A note sent to meet the
traveler might bring him to London the same night; and, if all went
well, before another week was over they might be afloat together in the
yacht.

The next day passed, to Allan's relief, without bringing any letters.
The spirits of Pedgift rose sympathetically with the spirits of his
client. Toward dinner time he reverted to the _mens sana in corpore
sano_ of the ancients, and issued his orders to the head-waiter more
royally than ever.

Thursday came, and brought the fatal postman with more news from
Norfolk. A letter-writer now stepped on the scene who had not appeared
there yet; and the total overthrow of all Allan's plans for a visit to
Somersetshire was accomplished on the spot.

Pedgift Junior happened that morning to be the first at the breakfast
table. When Allan came in, he relapsed into his professional manner, and
offered a letter to his patron with a bow performed in dreary silence.

"For me?" inquired Allan, shrinking instinctively from a new
correspondent.

"For you, sir--from my father," replied Pedgift, "inclosed in one to
myself. Perhaps you will allow me to suggest, by way of preparing
you for--for something a little unpleasant--that we shall want a
particularly good dinner to-day; and (if they're not performing any
modern German music to-night) I think we should do well to finish the
evening melodiously at the Opera."

"Something wrong at Thorpe Ambrose?" asked Allen.

"Yes, Mr. Armadale; something wrong at Thorpe Ambrose."

Allan sat down resignedly, and opened the letter.

["Private and Confidential."]

"High Street Thorpe Ambrose, 17th July, 1851.

"DEAR SIR--I cannot reconcile it with my sense of duty to your interests
to leave you any longer in ignorance of reports current in this town
and its neighborhood, which, I regret to say, are reports affecting