the next moment, as I
reflected that, to bring me this letter, he might be overstepping common
rules, I raised the envelope to the light and recognized, to my intense
disappointment, the well-known characters of Bainrothe's--small, rigid,
neat, constrained.

My heart, which a moment before had beat audibly to my own ear, sank
like a stone in my breast, and I sat for a time holding the letter
mutely, uncertain how to proceed. Should I return it unread, and thus
hurl the gauntlet in the traitor's face, or be governed by expedience
(word ever so despised by me of old), and trace the venom of the viper,
by his trail, back to his native den?

After a brief conflict of feeling, I determined on the wiser
course--that of self-humiliation as a measure of profound policy.

I broke the seal, the well-known "dove-and-vulture" effigy which he
called in heraldry "The quarry" and claimed as his rightful crest. Very
significantly, indeed, did it strike me now, though I had jested on the
subject so merrily of old with Evelyn and George Gaston.

The letter was of very recent date, and ran as follows--I have the
original still, and this is an exact copy:

"On September 1st, or as soon thereafter as feasible, I shall call to
see you, Miriam, in your retirement, which I am glad to hear has so far
been beneficial. Should I find you in a condition to _make_ conditions,
I shall lay before you a very advantageous offer of marriage I had
received for you before your shipwreck. Should you accept this offer,
and attach your signature to a few papers that I shall bring with me
(papers important to the respectability of your whole family as well as
my own), I shall at once resign to you your father's house and the
guardianship of Mabel. The chimera that alarmed you to frenzy can have
no further existence, either in fact or fancy. I am about to contract an
advantageous marriage with a foreign lady of rank, wealth, and beauty,
to whom I hope soon to introduce you. I need not mention her name, if
you are wise. Be patient and cheerful; cultivate your talents, and take
care of your good looks--no woman can afford to dispense with these,
however gifted; and you will soon find yourself as free as that
'chartered libertine' the air, for which last two words I am afraid you
will be malicious enough to substitute the name you will not find
appended, of your true friend and guardian, B.B."

Had Wentworth spoken, then? Did he know of my immurement? Was i