re the
exclamations of the gratified lady.

There remained nearly another hundred. Evan laid out the notes, and eyed
them while dressing. They seemed to say to him, 'We have you now.' He
was clutched by a beneficent or a most malignant magician. The former
seemed due to him, considering the cloud on his fortunes. This enigma
might mean, that by submitting to a temporary humiliation, for a trial
of him--in fact, by his acknowledgement of the fact, loathed though it
was,--he won a secret overlooker's esteem, gained a powerful ally. Here
was the proof, he held the proof. He had read Arabian Tales and could
believe in marvels; especially could he believe in the friendliness of a
magical thing that astounded without hurting him.

He, sat down in his room at night and wrote a fairly manful letter to
Rose; and it is to be said of the wretch he then saw himself, that he
pardoned her for turning from so vile a pretender. He heard a step in
the passage. It was Polly Wheedle. Polly had put her young mistress to
bed, and was retiring to her own slumbers. He made her take the letter
and promise to deliver it immediately. Would not to-morrow morning do,
she asked, as Miss Rose was very sleepy. He seemed to hesitate--he was
picturing how Rose looked when very sleepy. Why should he surrender
this darling? And subtler question--why should he make her unhappy? Why
disturb her at all in her sweet sleep?

'Well,' said Evan. 'To-morrow will do.--No, take it to-night, for God's
sake!' he cried, as one who bursts the spell of an opiate. 'Go at once.'
The temptation had almost overcome him.

Polly thought his proceedings queer. And what could the letter
contain? A declaration, of course. She walked slowly along the passage,
meditating on love, and remotely on its slave, Mr. Nicholas Frim.
Nicholas had never written her a letter; but she was determined that
he should, some day. She wondered what love-letters were like? Like
valentines without the Cupids. Practical valentines, one might say. Not
vapoury and wild, but hot and to the point. Delightful things! No harm
in peeping at a love-letter, if you do it with the eye of a friend.

Polly spelt just a word when a door opened at her elbow. She dropped her
candle and curtsied to the Countess's voice. The Countess desired her
to enter, and all in a tremble Polly crept in. Her air of guilt made the
Countess thrill. She had merely called her in to extract daily gossip.
The corner of the letter s