st
related, Roundjacket received him with a mysterious smile, and with
an expression of eye, particularly, which seemed to suggest the most
profound secrecy and confidence. Roundjacket did not say anything, but
his smile was full of meaning.

Verty, however, failed to comprehend;--even paid no attention to
his poetical friend, when that gentleman put his hand in his
breast-pocket, and half-drew something therefrom, looking at Verty.

The young man was too much absorbed in gloomy thought to observe these
manoeuvres; and, besides, we must not lose sight of the fact, that he
was an Indian, and did not understand hints and intimations as well as
civilized individuals.

Roundjacket was forced, at last, to clear his throat and speak.

"Hem!" observed the poet.

"Sir?" said Verty, for the tone of Roundjacket's observation was such
as to convey the impression that he was about to speak.

"I've got something for you, my dear fellow," said the poet.

"Have you, sir?"

"Yes; now guess what it is."

"I don't think I could."

"What do you imagine it can be?"

Verty shook his head, and leaned upon his desk.

"It has some connection with the subject of numerous conversations
we have held," said Roundjacket, persuasively, waving backward and
forward the ruler which he had taken up abstractedly, and as he
did so, indulging in a veiled and confidential smile; "now you can
guess--can't you?"

"I think not, sir."

"Why, what have we been talking about lately?"

"Law."

"No, sir!"

"Havn't we?"

"By no means--that is to say, there is a still more interesting
subject, my dear young savage, than even law."

"Oh, I know now--"

"Ah--!"

"It is poetry."

"Bah!" observed the poet; "you're out yet. But who knows? Your guess
may be correct. It may be poetry."

"What, sir?"

"This letter for you, from a lady," said Roundjacket, smiling, and
drawing from his pocket an elegantly folded billet.

Verty rose quickly.

"A letter for me, sir!" he said, blushing.

"Yes; not from a great distance though," Roundjacket replied, with a
sly chuckle; "see here; the post-mark is the 'Bower of Nature.'"

Verty extended his hand abruptly, his lips open, his countenance
glowing.

"Oh, give it to me, sir!"

Roundjacket chuckled more than ever, and handing it to the young man,
said:

"An African of small dimensions brought it this morning, and said no
answer was required--doubtless, therefore, it is _not_ a love-letter,
t