d not be created by any such assurance on his
part. So he read the letter over twice, sealed it, and took it up,
together with his bed candle, into his bedroom. Now that the letter
was written it seemed to be a thing fixed by fate that it must go. He
had written it that he might see how it looked when written; but now
that it was written, there remained no doubt that it must be sent. So
he went to bed, with the letter on the toilette-table beside him; and
early in the morning--so early as to make it seem that the importance
of the letter had disturbed his rest--he sent it off by a special
messenger to Boxall Hill. "I'se wait for an answer?" said the boy.

"No," said the doctor: "leave the letter, and come away."

The breakfast hour was not very early at Boxall Hill in these summer
months. Frank Gresham, no doubt, went round his farm before he came
in for prayers, and his wife was probably looking to the butter
in the dairy. At any rate, they did not meet till near ten, and
therefore, though the ride from Greshamsbury to Boxall Hill was
nearly two hours' work, Miss Dunstable had her letter in her own room
before she came down. She read it in silence as she was dressing,
while the maid was with her in the room; but she made no sign which
could induce her Abigail to think that the epistle was more than
ordinarily important. She read it, and then quietly refolding it and
placing it in the envelope, she put it down on the table at which she
was sitting. It was full fifteen minutes afterwards that she begged
her servant to see if Mrs. Gresham were still in her own room.
"Because I want to see her for five minutes, alone, before
breakfast," said Miss Dunstable.

"You traitor; you false, black traitor!" were the first words which
Miss Dunstable spoke when she found herself alone with her friend.

"Why, what's the matter?"

"I did not think there was so much mischief in you, nor so keen and
commonplace a desire for match-making. Look here. Read the first four
lines; not more, if you please; the rest is private. Whose is the
other judgement of whom your uncle speaks in his letter?"

"Oh, Miss Dunstable! I must read it all."

"Indeed you'll do no such thing. You think it's a love-letter, I dare
say; but indeed there's not a word about love in it."

"I know he has offered. I shall be so glad, for I know you like him."

"He tells me that I am an old woman, and insinuates that I may
probably be an old fool."

"I am sure h